Fuck Me!
by DeadPigeon
Summary: Those were the last words Malcolm Tucker uttered before his life took an unexpected turn
1. Chapter 1

**Fuck Me!**

He was awake…again! Malcolm lay in his bed. He was in no hurry to get up, not anymore. He looked over at the clock glowing on the nightstand. It was 4:24 a.m.

Less than two hours since he woke up the last time. It was his new normal, waking up every few hours. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept through the night. _Had he ever?_

He wanted to get up. He really did. The pressure on his bladder had increased since he last woke up, but getting out of bed would require too much effort. So he just lay there, hoping he could make it till six a.m. While he lay there, staring up into the darkness, he thought about the day nearly six months ago when his life changed forever.

 **Six Months Ago**

"It doesn't matter."

As the taxi pulled away from the police station, Malcolm's professional life flashed before his eyes. He smirked. He thought that flashbacks only happened during near death experiences. Sure, his career might be dead but he wasn't. Of course, his career was his life...so maybe? _Nah._ But five minutes later, when the trail of the media vehicles now following his taxi grew into what looked like an impromptu funeral procession, he thought perhaps he might be dead after all.

He laughed out loud, startling both the driver, who glanced up at him in the rear view mirror and his lawyer who gave him a sidelong glance. _Ok, not dead…maybe a little crazy._ He cleared his throat. "Sorry, private joke." The rest of the drive he regulated to staring out the window. It seemed safer than any more retrospection.

Once he arrived home and made it through the throng of reporters waiting outside and the ones chasing him down from behind, he made sure his front door was securely bolted and went to secure the rest of his home from prying eyes. Twenty minutes later he was sitting on his couch in the quiet of his darkened living room cradling a scotch and soda. The quiet unnerved him and he felt truly alone for the first time in his life.

For past twelve years, since becoming the Director of Communications, his work had been his life. He couldn't afford distractions. And for him, people were distractions. Even his wife had become a distraction. _April 17_ _th_ _was our wedding day, but I can't remember what day she left._ Looking around the room he noticed for the first time all the furniture they'd bought together when they first moved in to the place. Everything was still there. She hadn't taken a thing. He'd never noticed. "Fuck." He downed his drink in one gulp and went to fix another.

Two weeks later, Malcolm was sure he was going bat shit crazy. Other than a brief visit from his sister who brought him some well needed supplies two days after he'd gotten home, he hadn't seen another human being. He'd sequestered himself inside to wait for another domestic cock-up to shift the spotlight off him and on to someone else. He knew from past experience he wouldn't have long to wait. Problem was, the only time Malcolm had spent alone with himself for any length of time was the time it took for him to take a shit. Introspection was something he hadn't experienced for a long, long time and after two weeks of navel gazing he'd had enough of himself. If something didn't happen soon he was afraid Ollie might be right. And when he found himself arguing over which would be worse…his bloated body being found hanging in his closet, or Ollie Reeder being right, he knew he had to get out of the bloody house!

Looking in his bathroom mirror, he tugged at the hairs of the patchy beard that had been trying and failing to fill his face. He looked like some fuckin' apocalyptic survivor whose hair had begun falling out from radiation poisoning. Grabbing a pair of scissors, he went to work. An hour and a half later he was standing in his bedroom looking at himself in his full length mirror. Other than the longer hair trying to curl over his ears and at the back of his neck, he looked like his old self again, suited up for battle. He'd spent some time debating what he should wear; a suit or something more casual. He decided that if he was going to be ambushed by reporters on his first outing, nothing would protect him better than one of his battleship grey suits.

He stopped in the kitchen to scoop his neglected set of keys out of the small porcelain bowl that was their home. Poking his finger around inside, it looked like he had also dropped twenty seven cents in there; he left the change to nest in the bowl along with a small accumulation of pocket lint. He made a quick stop in the living room to turn off the television. He'd left it on day and night, channel hopping from one news program to another, waiting for a day when his name wasn't mentioned. It hadn't come. He grabbed up the remote and pointed it at the screen. He was about to press the off button but stopped short when he noticed a banner running across the bottom of the screen. He had to let it scroll through twice before he believed what he was seeing.

~PM Dismantles DOSAC In An Effort To Cut Governmental Spending~

"Yes! Yes! You DOSAC douche bags! Oh ho! Take me down will you. It's karma! Fuckin' karma! You fuckin' twats!" He scrolled around the channels for a few more minutes trying to glean more information from the news, but gave up and called the one person who'd bothered to call him during his isolation. Jamie McDonald.

"Hey you cocksucker! Why didn't you tell me?…Yeah, yeah…I know...Can we meet somewhere for lunch?"…Ok then, how about my place…tonight?"

After a brief exchange of some homo-erotic name calling and scurrilous banter, he hung up on the Scotsman and headed out the door with a smile on his face. He even grinned at the two photographers still lurking about on his doorstep. _Take that you fuckin' societal leeches! Why don't you fuck off back to whatever shit encrusted bung-hole you crawled out of!_ The two men were so taken aback by his uncharacteristic smile he noticed that one of them had forgotten to take his picture. As he headed off down the street the photographers followed him at a distance.

He didn't know where he was going. He was just glad to be outside. Soon he was feeling like one of those clichéd Hollywood vampires as he found himself squinting into the sun; he half expected the warmth he felt on his skin to start burning. He'd actually been compared once to Max Schreck's Vampire in the silent film Nosferatu …though now, he couldn't remember by whom. He didn't care. _As long as it served to scare the children, he thought._

He wandered aimlessly, taking in the sights and sounds of the city he loved to hate. _London. A whore's daydream and a politician's nightmare!_ After walking for a quarter of an hour he realized his stroll was taking him directly to Number 10. Twelve years of working there had his automatic pilot stuck in the on position. _Shit!_ It was the last place he wanted to be seen. He took the next left. Eventually, he found himself approaching the British Museum. He hadn't been inside since he was a boy, but he quickly dismissed the idea of going inside. _I've spent my life working around dead carcasses; I don't need to see any more._

The smell of curry was the next thing that caught his attention. His stomach growled. He'd been living off the prepackaged food that his sister had brought over and something fresh smelled too enticing to pass up. He found himself entering Curry Creations. It was a small eatery wedged in-between a shop selling clichéd touristy knick-knacks and a corner store selling mostly crisps and candy to the fat American tourists. Judging by the similar paint scheme of all three he was sure they were probably all owned by the same Pakistani family.

The café was no frills but seemed to be a popular with the locals. Most of the small tables were full and there was a line snaking back from an overhead sign that read: Place Your Order Here, with an arrow pointing down. Not that a line could ever form anywhere else from what he could see. There was only the main aisle from the door to the counter and from the counter to the door. He smirked to himself when he thought how he could technically place his order in the bathroom, but it would have to be after it was digested.

As the line moved forward he was eventually close enough to see the pictures mounted on the wall behind the counter of the ten curry dishes that were offered. He still couldn't make out the dish names or their descriptions. _My distance vision really is going to shit!_ As he strained to read the menu, he never noticed the woman who stepped in line behind him. She noticed him though. It was hard not to. After working for him for five years Samantha Harrington knew the back of his head as well as she knew the back of her own hand. She spoke his name twice trying to get his attention, but he was too engrossed in squinting at the menu. She sighed. _He never did go to the eye doctor._

Sam didn't think twice about touching him on his arm to get his attention. She did it all the time when they worked together, her hand on his shoulder or arm to get him to focus on an important document. But they weren't at work and when she touched his arm and spoke his name Malcolm flinched and spun around at her on the defensive. She took a step back and bumped into the person behind her. She didn't know who she should apologize to first so she just blurted out loudly "Sorry, sorry!" and hoped it covered them both. The lady behind her didn't seem to care, but Malcolm was already apologizing to her.

"Oh, Sam! Sorry, I'm so sorry!" He reached for her arm to pull her away from the lady she'd bumped. "I thought you were a reporter."

"Nope, just me," she smiled up at him.

Malcolm smiled back. It was so good to see a friendly face, but was surprised to see her. "What are you doing here?"

She couldn't help herself. "Having lunch; and you?"

 _Ask a stupid question, he thought._ But still gave her a quick smirk. "The same."

Sam notice the line in front of Malcolm had moved. "We should move up." He turned to look and she moved up beside him as they tightened up the line.

"How have you been?" He asked.

"Good. And you?"

He went with the truth. "I went into hiding. Grew a beard. Became a hermit." He rubbed his newly shaven face. "You should have seen me."

"Now that's an image," she laughed.

"What about you? You land somewhere?" He was genuinely concerned, especially since he was the cause of her unemployment.

"Nothing yet, I…" Her reply was interrupted by the man at the counter asking for their order. "What are you having?" She asked Malcolm.

 _Damn!_ He looked up at the menu. He'd forgotten about lunch. "Uhhh…"

Sam touched his arm again. "Don't worry. I got it." She'd picked up so many takeaways for him over the years she knew exactly what to order. "Two number sixes."

"And I got this," Malcolm said, brandishing a twenty. Sam knew better than to protest.

They didn't speak again until they were through the assembly line and heading back down the main aisle with their Styrofoam containers in hand. Malcolm surveyed the café. He saw one table open, but there was very little privacy in the cramped place. "How about lunch in the park?" Sam nodded in agreement and Malcolm held the door for her.

As she stepped outside Sam found herself blinded by bright lights flashing on and off. The two photographers that had been trailing Malcolm were now up in her face. "Back off, back off!" With his right arm still busy holding open the door he had to resort to waving his container of curry at them to try and block their shot while also pushing them back. They didn't budge. So he pushed his Styrofoam container at Sam. "Hold this." She managed to balance it atop her own before he let go. Sam knew what was about to happen, she'd just caught a glimpse of what he liked to call his 'bollockin' face.

The cold fury in his eyes and the vein pulsing in his forehead made both photographers pause even before Malcolm let go with his verbal onslaught. He pointed menacingly at the closest man. "You! What paper do you work for?" The man gave no reply. "What about you?" He pointed to the other man. The guy just shook his head. "I should have known. A couple of fuckin' freelancers! You can't get a real job at a paper so you go after sloppy seconds. Pickin' over the corpse of fuckin' last week's news! Well guess what my friends? Youuu…," he waggled this finger at both. "And youuu…are going to cease and desist right now or…" The man closest to him had the gall to laugh, so Malcolm reached out and snagged the man by the camera hanging from his neck. With a swift yank he pulled him in close. "I wasn't finished; you don't interrupt me until I'm finished or I'll shove this camera so far up your ass, you'll be takin' picture of your own fuckin esophagus!" He let go and the man stumbled back. His friend backed off too.

He lowered his tone. "If you want to keep on whoring yourselves out in this town I'd rethink keeping any of those pictures you've taken."

The man opened his cake hole again. "You can't tell us what to do!"

Malcolm knew better than to make verbal threats that could be heard in public, so he took several steps forward as if he were leaving, but then stopped beside the photographer at the last second. He placed his hand on the man's bicep and squeezed as he leaned over and whispered sternly in his ear. "I know people who know people. Do you know people?" The man looked worried. "No? I didn't think so. So unless you two want to be known as the biggest fucking dealers of fuckin' child pornography in the United Kingdom, I suggest you both beat it!" The man's eyes went from worry to fear. Malcolm let go of his arm and the photographer stepped over to his compatriot and pulled him away from the restaurant and off down the street.

When Malcolm turned back to Sam she was shaking her head. "What did you say to him?" He just tapped the side of his nose and took his food container from her.

"Shall we go?" He nodded in the direction of the park.

"Sure." She fell in step beside him and they walked without conversing till they reached the park.

"There's a spot." Malcolm gestured to a vacant bench under the shade of a large oak tree. They sat and unwrapped their sporks together. Sam spoke first.

"So…," She cut him a glance. "A hermit huh?"

"Mmmmhmm." He mumbled through a mouth full of what tasted like the best curry he'd ever had. _Hunger makes everything taste better._ He jabbed his spork at his meal as he swallowed. "This is the first preservative free meal I've had I two weeks."

Sam poked at her food. "You should have texted me. I would have brought you something."

He appreciated the thought. "You don't work for me anymore, Sam"

"I'm well aware of that." She cringed inwardly. Her reply had sounded sharper than she meant it to be.

Malcolm noticed she'd switched from poking to stirring. "Quit playing with your food."

She breathed out a quiet laugh and relaxed back into the bench seat. He did the same and asked, "So what the fuck would you have brought me?"

She paused mid-spoonful. "Your favorite, of course. Shit biscuits and gravy."

They both laughed. It was an expression he started using after he came back from America. Anytime she asked him what he wanted to eat for lunch he'd bark out, "Shit biscuits and gravy!"

As much as he wanted to sit there with Sam and pretend things were normal, he had to nip this in the bud. He didn't want her to be sucked into the black hole of what was now his life. He rubbed at his forehead. The sensory overload of the day was bringing on a headache. "Look, Sam. You need to stay clear of me or nobody in the party will take you on."

"Yeah, about that…I've had offers."

"That's good."

"But…"

Concerned, he looked at her. "But what?"

"They only want me to get to you, or information on you."

His headache suddenly got worse and he closed the lid on his curry. "I'm sorry."

She knew he really was sorry and it made her sad. She closed the lid to her meal too. She looked up at him and saw him rubbing his forehead. He only ever did that when he had a headache. She wasn't at her desk. She had everything he needed in her desk, Paremectol, antiacids, cough drops, caffeine tabs. Sitting there she had nothing to offer him. She felt herself tearing up and looked away. "I'm sorry too."

 _Shit, he had to go. He was making her cry!_ He felt like a right bastard that he was going to run off and leave her, but what could he do. He wasn't equipped for this. "I should go," he blurted out. She didn't say anything to stop him so he got up…and almost fell flat on is face. The next thing he knew Sam was holding on to him and helping him to sit back down.

"Are you alright?"

He felt better now that he was sitting and he didn't want her to worry. "I think I've been sitting on my ass too long. The sun and the walk must have gotten to me."

Sam had her phone out. "Let me call you a cab."

He was going to protest but as the dizziness passed a wave of nausea swept in. He acquiesced. "Ok."

"You're a cab." She said as she hit the speed dial number she still had in her phone for his favorite service.

He grimaced. "Ha Ha."

As they waited she asked him if he'd heard about DOSAC. "I have. Jamie and I are having party later tonight. And by party I mean two Scotsmen sitting around getting drunk and railing against the English. I would invite you but Jamie can be very inappropriate after a few."

"Jamie, huh?"

"Hey!"

She laughed. "I'm kidding. You've never been anything but a wonderful boss and a gentleman, and I just want to say thank you."

He didn't know what to say.

She placed her hand on his arm. "Thank you, Malcolm. I'll miss working with you."

"So will I Sam…I wish…," the rest of his comment was cut off by a horn honking from the curb. _If wishes were horses, he thought sadly._

Sam took the food container from his hand and held on to his arm as he stood up. He didn't mind. She let go when they reached the cab and she handed him his food once he was seated. When he looked up at her, he could see tears shimmering in her eyes as she shut the door. He flailed at what to say. "Goodbye Sam."

"Goodbye Malcolm."

And as his cab pulled away, he heard her say "Keep in touch."

He started feeling worse on the ride home. It probably had something to do with the emotions he'd been experiencing. He'd excised sadness, empathy and caring from his soul long ago. Fear, anger and intimidation were all that his job demanded from him. He rubbed his protesting gut again. _Fuckin' curry pissed off my ulcer!_

Back in the safety of his home he headed upstairs to the pharmacy he kept stashed in his bedroom nightstand. Antacids and paramectol and a nap were all he wanted. It was still early afternoon, plenty of time to be back on his feet before Jamie arrived. He tossed his jacket down onto his bed and grabbed a handful of both tablets from the drawer. He munched on three antacids as he headed back downstairs.

He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, chugged down a couple of pills for his headache and stuffed the extras into his pocket. In the living room, he pulled off his tie and dropped it on the coffee table before snapping up his remote. He turned on the TV, kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the sofa. There was nothing new about DOSAC on any of the stations so he let the droning of a pair of newscasters on one of the twenty-four hour news stations lull him to sleep.

Nearly four hours later, he awoke to a ringing in his ears. It took a second before he realized it was his front doorbell. It was now dark outside and TV was the only source of light in his house. He lurched off the couch and stumbled forward into the coffee table. His shins banged against the edge and placed his hands on top to keep him from falling over. He was dizzy and his head felt like a balloon that was being squeezed. His headache was still there. His balance returned and he switched on the rooms recessed lighting as he headed to the front door. He could hear Jamie yelling through the door as he got closer.

"Open the fuckin' door you bent bastard!" The buzzer rang again. "Where the fuck are you?" Ring, Ring, Ring.

Malcolm yanked open the door. "Quiet down, you twat!"

Jamie stepped up to the threshold. "Christ Malcolm! You look like shit. Did you start without me?" He squeezed past and headed inside. Malcolm shut the door and followed.

Jamie stopped in the living room and turned around. "Where's the booze, where's the women. I thought you'd be celebratin'."

"I'm all smiles on the inside."

He eyed Malcolm up and down, his dress shirt was thoroughly wrinkled and his hair sticking out at all angles. "Jeez Malcolm, two weeks into forced retirement and you're already lookin' like one of those old women who wear the same clothes all week because they're too busy sittin' around watchin' the telly all day."

"Fuck you." He replied, smoothing down his hair. "Do you want a drink or not."

"Well, I'm not here just to look at your cunt of a face, now am I?

Malcolm headed to the kitchen. "Your usual?"

"Of course." He glanced at the TV and raised his voice so that Malcolm could hear him in the kitchen. "You're wasting your time watchin' the news! PMs keeping a tight lid on this one. He actually used the phrase 'heads will roll' if anyone mentiones anything to the media other than budget cuts as the reason why DOSAC was gutted." He waited for a reply from Malcolm, but all he heard were some odd sounds coming from the kitchen. He ventured in and found Malcolm throwing up in the sink. "Bloody hell! You alright?"

Malcolm turned on the sink, took a drink straight from the faucet and spat it out. Turning to Jamie he said, "Must be the curry we had for lunch. I wonder if I should call Sam and see if she's ok."

Sam? As in your secretary Sam?"

Malcolm nodded as he wiped his mouth off on a kitchen towel.

"I knew it! I knew that's why she always refused my offers. You two have been getting it on all this time, haven't you? You old dog! What's she like? I bet she gives good…"

"Shut your mouth before you say something you'll regret."

Jamie thought he'd just got the wrong end of the stick. "Oh…so you two are serious? When's the wedding?"

"There's no fucking wedding, there's no fucking nothing!" He threw the hand towel at Jamie's head. "Just don't fuckin' talk about her like that."

"Sorry."

Malcolm fixed Jamie his drink and poured himself one as well. He dug out a couple more paramectols from his pocket and downed them with a large gulp of his Scotch Whiskey. "Gaaah!" _I should have had them with water!_

"You sure you're ok?"

Malcolm rubbed at his forehead again. "It's just a fuckin' headache."

"Maybe I should go?"

"No, stay. I want to hear the gossip."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. We can talk about Mannion getting fucked over while you braid my hair."

"Ooh, that sounds exciting," Jamie said sarcastically and reached for the bottle of whiskey. As he refilled his drink he heard the sound of glass shattering. Looking up, he saw that Malcolm had dropped his glass and that his eyes were wide with fear.

Malcolm Tucker felt the balloon that was being squeezed in his head finally pop. His eyes went wide as his body went still. It was a profound stillness, like his brain had switched off from his body. _This isn't right, he thought._ His vision began to darken and he felt himself falling forward. He tried to say "Help me," to Jamie, but all that came out before he hit the floor, was …

"Fuck me!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The early morning sun found gap in his curtain and was now conspiring with his bladder to try and force him from his bed. He just turned his head. _Fuck you! Fuck the world!_ He still had his defiance; at least he still had that. He had very little control over his life anymore; where he could go, what he could say, what he could do. There were times he thought he'd been better off if they had found his bloated body hanging in his closet, because what came next for him was worse than death. Even though there was a bright side. Nobody wanted to be known as the heartless douchbag who'd sent him to prison. The charge against him had been dropped. He sighed and looked at his clock again. It was almost six. _Almost time._

* * *

He was choking; he couldn't understand why he was choking. It took a moment for him to realize there was something in his mouth. He couldn't spit it out. He was going to reach up and pull it out but was startled by a loud beeping near his head. He began gagging and started to panic when he realized he wasn't breathing properly. Opening his eyes he saw a face above him and he felt hands on his shoulders pressing him down.

"Hold still Mr. Tucker," said a dark skinned man whose face hovered above his. "You're on a ventilator. It may feel strange, but you'll be ok, I'll be removing the tube that's in you mouth and throat in just a moment. Blink once if you understand me?"

He blinked.

"Good. I'll be right back."

The face disappeared and he was left to stare at a blank ceiling. He could hear people talking and moving about him. With his eyes he followed the tube coming out of him as far as he could to his left. He was attached to a machine. _I'm a robot, he thought._ He then felt a comforting warmth spread through his body as the man's face appeared again.

"I've given you something to help you relax."

Another face appeared opposite him. It was a woman with her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was holding a wand. _I'm in a magic show._ " I'm going to be suctioning your tube before we take it out. It won't hurt but it will feel a little strange." As the tip of the wand got closer to his face he closed his eyes. He could hear the sucking sound it made and he could feel his insides gurgling. _I'm at the dentist._

The noise soon stopped and he felt hands on his face. He could feel something being pulled from his skin. "Mr. Tucker." He opened his eyes; the man was back. "I'll be removing the tube now. It can be scary but try not to move around too much. You may feel the need to cough, that's normal and it actually helps." He could see the main tube being disconnected from the contraption he felt in his mouth. His breathing changed. _I'm suffocating!_ His body jerked automatically, fighting for breath and he could feel something moving inside him as he watched a tube being pulled from his mouth. He coughed a few times and it was out. He still struggled for air as his lungs adjusted to breathing on their own.

"Slow deep breaths sir. That's it. Slow and easy." He followed the commands and soon settled into a rhythm. His jaw ached. He opened and closed his mouth a few times.

"Don't try to speak yet. Here…," the woman held up a stick with a little green sponge on the end, "…suck on this." He opened his mouth when he felt it touch his lips and he sucked on the tiny moistened sponge. He sucked it dry before pushing it out with his tongue. He wanted to know where he was. He tried to ask, but all that came out was a hoarse sounding, "…at…at."

The Doctor understood him though. "You're at the Royal London Hospital. You've been here for nearly a month."

 _A month! How? Why?_ He tried to speak again. "Hh…huhh...?"

Don't try and talk Mr. Tucker. You've had a hemorrhagic stroke and it may be difficult to speak right now. I need to do a quick assessment of you, so just blink to reply. Once for yes two for no. Do you understand?"

He blinked once.

Good. That's good. Do you remember where you are?

One blink.

Do you remember what happened to you?

Two blinks.

"You had extreme hypertension Mr. Tucker. Your blood pressure was so high you were a walking time bomb." The Doctor pointed to the left side of his head. "The pressure ruptured a blood vessel in your brain. Do you understand?"

He didn't respond right away. He was taking in what the Doctor had just told him. _Blood vessel ruptured in the brain. Not good._

"Do you understand what an aneurysm is?"

Malcolm closed his eyes. He didn't want to blink. This couldn't be happening to him. He could just keep his eyes closed and hoped this would all go away.

"Mr. Tucker?"

But it wasn't going away. This Doctor wasn't going away. He opened his eyes.

"Is that a yes?"

He blinked.

"Good. Ok. Now I need to do some assessments. He held up a pen light. Follow this with your eyes."

The assessment lasted only a few minutes, but it wore him out. Mentally, not physically.

Physically, he barely moved; they did most of the lifting, poking and prodding. But mentally, every test he blinked yes or no to only worried him more and more. He wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. Go to sleep and never wake up.

"Mr. Tucker?"

"Mr. Tucker?"

The doctor gave him a gentle shake and reluctantly opened his eyes.

"That's all for today. We'll let you rest. Jenny is your nurse and she will be in and out to check on you. We'll also call your sister and let her know you're awake. "Get some rest, stay positive and you'll get through this. I promise."

Malcolm wanted that promise in writing.

* * *

Authors note: _I realize this was a short chapter but it's a stepping stone to the rest of the story. I also wanted to make this disclaimer/apology to any doctors or nurses, or stroke victims or family of stroke victims who may read this. I am no expert on the condition, even though I have a close family member who has had one. I have done basic research on medical procedures, and stroke related after effects, so please don't call me out on any inaccuracies. I could spend months on proper research, but this is just fanfiction and I have a story to write and a life to lead. And if you think this makes me callous towards stroke survivors then you can do as Malcolm Tucker would probably tell you: "Go and find another fuckin' story to read!"_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He heard the front door open. _Finally!_

"Good morning !" The home health care aid called out to him from the hallway.

 _Christ! Why does he have to be so fuckin' cheerful?_

The young man stepped into Malcolm's living room. Or rather, into what was now his bedroom. "How are you this morning?"

"T-toilet," he barked at the man.

"Use your word's Mr. Tucker."

 _What am I, fuckin' two?_ "Toilet!"

"How long have you been waitin' for me? You can get up on your own, you know." The aid stopped next to his bed. "You need to get up and get moving."

"Fffff…youuu." And fuck his sister for leaving his urinal in the bathroom when she left last night! And fuck the fact that he couldn't say his favorite word anymore! He'd lost the best weapon in his arsenal of words. _Use your words!_ As far as he was concerned his words were now useless. He waved his left arm at the man. "T-toilet."

The man grabbed his hand and helped him to a sitting position. "You can't keep doing this Mr. Tucker. You want me hold your dick for you too?"

Malcolm glared at him.

"You're only gonna' have my help for another month. If you don't start making an effort you're gonna be all alone here pissin' in your own bed." He scooted a walker from where it had been sitting beside the bed to a spot right in front of Malcolm. "You can do this on your own." He left Malcolm sitting there and went to dig something out of the bag he'd brought with him.

 _Great! More therapy bands._

Instead, he pulled out a magazine and plopped down in the new lift recliner that his sister had purchased for him when she'd changed his living room into his bedroom. _Shit! This guy was going to let him piss on his bed, or at least, on the,...on the...on the ground !_ He looked at the metal contraption in front of him. He'd managed a few times with the therapists help, but he hated it. It reminded him of the old geriatric blue haired pensioners he'd seen cruising with their walkers while feeding the pigeons in the park. _That's not me!_

He looked over to the aid for help again. Ron…John…Don, he'd forgotten his name again, but he was engrossed in his magazine. _I should just piss myself!_ Instead, he grabbed his nearly useless right hand with his left and placed it on the bar in front of him. His thumb had a limited range of motion, but his fingers would not straighten on their own. With his left hand he uncurled the stiff fingers and placed them around the bar. He held on as tight as he could with his thumb as he pulled himself forward with his left hand. Once his feet hit the floor, his left hand let go of the walker and he used his good hand to reposition his right leg and foot to be in the proper place with his left foot so that when he finally stood up he wouldn't topple over.

He was starting to sweat, not just from the effort, but from the fear of falling. _Where the fuck is Don Juan?_ He looked over his shoulder. The man was still reading. _I'm gonna piss myself straining to stain up!_ He put his left hand back on the bar and began rocking back and forth to give himself enough forward momentum to pull himself up. On the third try he pulled himself up. He put too much weight on his right leg too soon and he felt himself wobble to the right. _Shit! I'm gonna fall!_

He didn't fall. Shaun was at his side to stabilize him. "You need more practice," was all the encouragement he offered. He let go once Malcolm slid his right leg into place. "Let me know if you need a hand," he smirked.

"Diiick!

The aide sat on his bed to wait. "We'll work on that limited vocabulary of yours when you get back."

The trip to the bathroom was exhausting, which is why he didn't want to do it in the first place. He had waited so long to go that he started pissing before he was clear of his flies. He wet his pajama bottoms and the floor before he hit the toilet. "D..daaam it!"

Shaun appeared in the doorway. "Next time you won't wait so long."

Malcolm's frustration and exhaustion had taken their toll. His arms started shaking and his breathing became rapid as he held himself up on the walker. He was sure something was wrong when his eyes started burning. Shaun quickly stepped forward when he saw that Malcolm was crying. He'd pushed him too far. "Come on." He put his arms around Malcolm's shoulders. "Let's get you back to bed."

The return trip was easier with Shaun's help. Malcolm didn't even protest as the man undressed him, cleaned him up and redressed him. "Sorry," Shaun said when he'd finished. "You haven't been very cooperative with your therapy since we started and when I spoke to your sister yesterday, she said that I shouldn't put up with your shit anymore. I am sorry that happened, but maybe now you understand how important it is that you work with me."

Macolm lay in the bed with his good arm across his face. It had taken him a while to realize that he'd been crying. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. It embarrassed him and he tried to hide his eyes. He realized it was stupid. John was the only one in the house to see him. And yes, he had been a dick to the man during the past few of weeks. And yes, he did need his help. So he apologized too.

"Ssssoo…kay. "

"We're cool then Mr. Tucker?" Shaun asked just to be sure.

"Mm…aalcuumm."

"All right then, Malcolm. You feelin' up to some speech therapy before breakfast?"

"Ssuure."

When Shaun left at two o'clock, Malcolm actually felt upbeat. He even stood to greet his sister when she arrived at her usual time. She babysat (as he called it) from six to ten every night. "Hi Mm…aggie." She hugged him and started crying again, and this time he felt himself tearing up as well. _Twice in one day_. He wondered what was wrong with him? He didn't realize until later that night, as he lay in bed thinking about all he'd been through since waking up in the hospital, that crying is what a normal person would have done along time ago. He'd just forgotten how.

* * *

xXx

The first time he was awake at the hospital for one of his sister's visit, she'd cried. He didn't know how to react, so he just closed is eyes and waited for her to stop. He wasn't able to do much anyway after coming out of his coma. Nothing seemed to work properly and they kept him sedated most of the time. They said it aided his recovery. Anytime he was awake, they were always poking and prodding and running test and asking questions he could barley answer.

Once they stopped sedating him and cut back on pain the meds, he finally learned how bad his stroke had been. He learned they had to cut open his head to fix the bleed. _Cut open his head!_ His sister had been the one to show him in a mirror. _I look like that guy…that guy…(fuck!)…that…thing sewn together with parts!_ It was all stapled back in place but there was still a drain tube sticking out of his skull. He had lots of tubes in him. An oxygen tube taped to his nose along with a feeding tube down his nose. He had an IV tube coming out of the port in his arm and a catheter stuck in his dick with a tube going to a pee bag. _I look like one of those…round things… with pins in it. Round things? Pad? Bag?_ His ability to speak was minimal and realized lost the one thing that was more important to him than the use of his right hand or leg. He'd lost his words!

That revelation, along with a few other complications, sent him into a depression by the end of his third month in the hospital. The first complication freaked him out. He thought for sure he was dying when he started throwing up blood. His ulcer had hemorrhaged. It was easily fixed with meds; but a week later, he had another complication that almost did kill him. He had an infection in what he called his 'brain drain'. It set back his recovery. _Recovery!_ _Who were they trying to kid?_ His sister had been there nearly every day and she read to him all the pamphlets and printouts the nurses had provided about stroke and stroke recovery. _He was fucked!_

He quit listening to her and stopped replying to her questions. He stopped cooperation with the rehab nurses. He thought he'd won when he'd made his sister cry again and she didn't return the next day. But she hadn't abandoned him. She'd just gone for help. And when Jamie McDonald showed up at his room, Malcolm was thoroughly pissed.

"Fuckin' 'ell Malcolm. What 'ave you done to yourself?"

Jamie's voice jolted him awake. For a second, he thought he'd been dreaming he was in hospital and that he'd just woken up from one helluva realistic nightmare. But the bright antiseptic whiteness of the room told him otherwise. Jamie was standing at the door. He wanted to tell him to fuck off. He wanted to call for a nurse so they could make him go away. But he couldn't do anything but lay there. He tried to pull his sheet up over his head with his good left hand, but it wasn't long enough and only reached his nose.

"You don't want me to leave Malcolm. It seems I'm the only friend you've got."

Malcolm ran his hand down his face in frustration and then flipped him off.

Jamie laughed. "I forgot you knew sign language." He grabbed a plastic chair that was pushed up against the wall and dragged it across the floor to Malcolm's bedside and sat down.

"Didn't you know there were easier ways to avoid prison?

Malcolm couldn't help but smile.

"Your sis came to see me."

His smile quickly faded.

"Don' be like that. This hasn't been easy for her either. She's was cryin' in my office yesterday…so don't you be treatin' her like that, she's your own sister for Christ sake!"

Malcolm breathed out a heavy sigh.

"Look Malcolm, I'm not here to bust your balls. I just want you to know…that I know what you're going through."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. _How could you possibly know what I'm going through?_

"Screw you and your semaphoric fuckin' eye roll Malcolm; I do know what you're going through!

Malcolm shook his head. _You know nothing._

Jamie leaned forward in his chair. "Remember when I took that month of vacation last summer?"

Malcolm nodded.

"Yeah? Well it wasn't because I went on a shagging expedition to the Bahamas like I told everyone. I went to Edinburgh to take care of my dad. He had a heart attack and then suffered a stroke."

Malcolm looked surprised.

"Why didn't I tell you? It's the same reason you don't want visitors. We can't let 'em see us bleed, now can we? Not in our line of work."

"Nnno."

"Ah! He speaks."

Ss..suum."

"I see you've got none of that face paralysis. That's a good thing, because with your face...you'd have looked like a whore's saggy cunt. Especially if you opened your mouth."

Malcolm laughed. Damn, he missed his friend!

"I bet that's the first time you've laughed since you've been here."

"Yup."

"And it won't be the last Malcolm, but it's just gonna' take time. A long, long time. So you need to do something. You need to forget your old life and all those pricks back there. You need to focus on getting better and then start a new life because you'll never be able to go back to that fuckin' cesspool."

Malcolm expected he'd be getting an upbeat pep-talk from his friend. Not this…this sucked! He got angry. "Wuh…wuh…wuh?" _Dammit!_

Jamie understood why Malcolm's sister had come by. He was in denial. "Why? You fuckin' know why! You are fucked in the head Malcolm! Jamie pointed to his own head. "Literally…fucked in the head! You're not gonna' wake up one day to find everything is back to normal. You will _never_ be back to normal. Your doctors and your sister have been telling you this for months, but you're too fuckin' daft to listen!"

Malcolm grabbed up the TV remote lying on his bed and tossed it at Jamie's head. He missed.

Jamie picked it up off the floor. "You throw like a wee little girl." He set it just out of reach atop the small table next to Malcolm's bed. That earned him a glare.

"You keep doin that and next time I visit I'm gonna' shave those eyebrows right off, then where will you be?"

Malcolm looked up at the ceiling.

"This…," Jamie waved his hand around to get his attention. "This is your new world Malcolm. You're gonna' have to learn to live in it. So get up off your ass, do the speech therapy, do the physical therapy and…"

Malcolm turned his head away.

"Fine, fuckin' be that way! Jamie's chair screeched back across the linoleum as he abruptly stood up. "If you want my help? You call me. I promise I'll be there for you night an day."

Malcolm still refused to look at Jamie as he heard his footsteps move away.

Jamie stopped at the door. "I told your sister I would help, but I already had to watch me dad waste away an die, and I just can't do that again!

 _Shit!_ Malcolm turned his face to the door but his friend was already gone.

Jamie's 'pep-talk' gave him a lot to think about.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"C'mon Malcolm, you can't stay inside forever."

He was sitting in his lift chair again. It's where he always seemed to be when his sister dropped by.

"Can too. I got my st..st..bike." He still couldn't pronounce the word stationary, anything over three syllables still tripped him up.

Maggie crossed her arms. You need fresh air…sunshine."

"I got my…my…," He became frustrated every time he couldn't find a word and pointed angrily towards the back of his flat.

"Sitting on your ass out on your patio is not what I'm talking about."

She waited for a reply but watched as he pulled his notepad and pen from the pocket of his bathrobe. "Patio," He repeated I slowly. "How d-do you spell that?"

"P…a…t…i…o."

He scribbled it down awkwardly with his left hand.

"Do you have to do that right now?"

"Yes."

"Malcolm, can you put it away? We need to talk."

"It's what I got to do."

"Have to do," she corrected.

"Have." He flipped open his notepad again.

"Malcolm…," she took the pad from him.

"Hey!"

"…I need you're full attention."

"Ff-for what?"

She sat on the end of his bed. "We need to talk about your finances."

"What ah b-bout it?"

"You need to make some changes Malcolm. You're hemorrhaging money."

"What?"

"You haven't worked in nearly nine months. You're not broke, but you're eating into your savings. You need to seriously think about moving."

"Moving. Why?"

"Your mortgage is too expensive. You need to think about selling this place and living somewhere more affordable."

"Like were?"

"Well...I've been talking with Auntie Barb and she said…"

He became defensive. "Talking ah…b-bout me?"

"About you're situation."

"Pttth."

"Her son Jonathan and his wife are living at grandma's old place and they said you could put a trailer on the property."

"In St-stone…haven!"

"You liked it there when we were kids!"

"I'm not a ff-fuckin' kid anymore!"

"Nooo, but if you try to stay here you'll be broke and homeless."

 _Fuck._ He slumped back into his chair. His sister had been paying his bills since his stroke and money was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He chewed nervously on bottom lip. He hadn't told her yet, but since his stroke, his maths skills were now shit. _Why does she have to bring this up now?_ _I'm doin' so well with my therapy._

"Malcolm?"

 _Fuckin' stroke; I'm losin' everything!_

"Malcolm"

 _Shit, Shit, Shit!"_

"Malcolm!" She could tell when he looked up that he was on the verge of having another panic attack. _Crap!_ He hadn't had one in months and she was sure he was over them.

"It's ok Malcolm." She went over to him and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to decide right now. I just want you to get used to the idea that you'll have to move one day."

He fidgited in his chair.

Maggie knew the old Malcolm would have been up pacing the floors. She never thought she'd miss that, but right now…she did. And she knew it was worse for him, being limited in his ability to express himself. I made her sad to think about it, but that did neither of them any good.

"You know…," She smirked at him, tying ease the tension. "You could always go and live with mom." They had moved their mother into a seniors assisted living home nearly three years ago.

He glared back. "I'd rather b-be homeless." He couldn't help smiling when she laughed.

After his sister left later that evening, he grabbed his phone and called Jamie. He needed his friend's perspective. Jamie had been true to his word since that day in the hospital. Malcolm had called and Jamie had been visiting twice a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays to help with his rehab. Malcolm tried to make the visits fact finding missions about the goings on in the party, but Jamie quickly nixed that idea. _"You can't go back."_

"What's up cunt face?" Jamie enjoyed using the new nickname he'd given Malcolm.

"I need your advice, dick b-breath."

"Uhh…you need to keep working on your b's, because your insults lose their bite when you st-stutter. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Very f-funny."

"Seriously, what's up?

"Maggie says I got to find a new palace to live."

"A new palace? Oh…you mean a new place."

"Yeah, puh-lace."

"What? Right now?"

"No. B-but she says I need to…or I'll go b-broke."

"Well, will you?"

"Will I what."

"Go broke?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? If you don't, then how do you know you're going broke?"

"Maggie told me. She's b-been taking care of my..my…the money stuff."

"Why aren't you?"

Malcolm didn't reply but Jamie could hear his breathing pick up on the other end of the line.

"Malcolm?"

"I can't."

"You can't. Can't what?"

"I can't…I can't…I j-just c-can't!

"Malcolm…Malcolm, calm down…ok! Just think about something else. Jamie heard him suck in a deep breath.

"S-sorry…sorry."

"Malcolm…just chill. I'm coming over."

"You don't got to…."

"Malcolm, shut the fuck up. I'm coming over."

xXx

When he arrived, Jamie let himself in and made a direct path to Malcolm's liquor cabinet. He poured himself a double shot of whiskey before plopping down atop Malcolm's empty bed. "So, is there something you're not telling me?" He fluffed the pillows behind his head, squashing them back as he leaned up against the headboard.

Instead of replying, Malcolm just sat there nervously fidgeting in his chair. _Oh hell!_ Jamie threw back his drink and waited a moment as the burning sensation made its way through his insides. He coughed. _Malcolm always did have the good shit._ "Talk to me. What's going on?"

Malcolm stared down at his lap and it took a moment before he replied. "I'm scared."

"About what?"

"Ab-bout everything." He looked up at Jamie. "I don't know who I am anymore."

Jamie could see the fear in his Malcolm's eyes and grew concerned. "What do you mean?"

"I re-mm…re-mm…," he pounded his left fist into the chairs armrest. "… rem-emb-ber who I was, but I'm not him any…more."

Jamie knew what Malcolm was trying to say. He'd noticed the difference. And after dealing with his father's stroke, he'd expected it. He'd seen the funckin' half moon of staples they'd put into his skull after surgery. He wished he could tell Malcolm that with enough time and therapy everything would be ok, but he'd promised to tell him the truth.

"No. You're not."

Jamie noticed that Malcolm's left leg had started to nervously bounce up and down. "So what do I do?"

"You do what you've been doin' every day. You get up, do your therapy and live your life."

"What f-fuckin' l-life?" He waved his right arm up and down. "I'm ah-bout as use…less as one of Nic...la Muarry's b-brain farts."

"Yeah, about that. What's this really all about?"

"I can't spell, I can't think of the words, and I can't do num…b-bers anymore."

"Do numbers? You mean count?"

"I can count, can't add or…or minus, or any of that."

"Fuck Malcolm, you can't keep stuff like that to yourself."

"Sorry. I 'm d-doing speech and spell-ling and PT. I can't do any more. I can't." Malcolm's jitteriness in his leg moved up into his torso as he began unconsciously rocking back in forth in his chair.

"Nobody expects you to do everything all at once, but…," Jamie hopped up off the bed and went over to the small table next to where Malcolm was sitting. He pulled open the top drawer and rummaged around the collection of pill bottles inside till he found the one he wanted. He checked the date and the pill count inside before shaking the bottle at Malcolm. "You can't stop taking your anxiety meds."

"Too many pills."

"You can't pick and choose which ones to take; you have to take them all." He grabbed a few more bottles out of the drawer and held them up. "Are you gonna' stop taking your blood thinner and blood pressure medicine too? Because if you want to have another stroke…go right ahead." He tossed them back into the drawer. "Do you want Maggie to have to count your pills and fill your dispenser again?"

Malcolm lowered his head, it was one of the few important daily tasks he'd finally been allowed to do on his own. "No."

Jamie shoved the bottle of lorazepam at him. "Then take the damn pills, because you're shakin' like a fuckin' alcoholic with the DT's."

Macolm took the proffered bottle and Jamie went back to the bed. He leapt atop it with a bounce and leaned back against the headboard again while Malcolm downed his pill.

"Ok, now that we took care of that, what's your thoughts about moving?"

"I d-don't want to move."

"Yeah, well I don't like havin' to make Millers limp dick look like it can still perform for the press either, but I still have to stand there and hold up the wee thing up now; don't I?

Malcolm smirked at the analogy.

"What's so bad about moving? New you, new place. Why not?"

"Maggie wants me to go to Stone…haven."

"What the fuck's in Stonehaven?"

"An oval home with my name on it."

"Oval?"

Malcolm nodded.

"Oval home? You mean a mobile home?"

"Yes, that."

"Jesus Christ! She wants you to move into a caravan park?"

"Not a park. On f-family l-land."

Jamie sat up. "Well, that has possibilities."

"Are you seer-ious?"

"Why not? You're just hiding out in this fuckin house. Why not move somewhere nobody will know or care who you are?"

"B-but I love this place."

"You and Sandra loved this place, and she's been gone for years. It's time to move on Malcolm. Now's as good a time as any."

"B-but what will I do in Stonehaven? I got to work."

"You can always go on the dole." Jamie laughed at the thought, but Malcolm didn't think it was funny.

"F-fuck you." And he gave him the middle finger for good measure.

"Seriously though, what do you think you can do?"

"D-dunno."

"Well then, lets spitball."

They both stared at one another, each trying to come up with something Malcolm could do for a living. After what became an awkwardly long staring contest, Jamie looked away, picking up his empty glass. "I need a refill."

"Th-thanks, thanks a l-lot!" Malcolm yelled at is back as he disappeared around the corner. Frustrated, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. This wasn't going as expected. He thought Jamie would have all the answers. _He dosen't have a fucking clue either!_ He heard him return.

"Where's mine?" He asked as he watched Jamie sip at another glass of his good whiskey.

"You know you can't have any." He held up his glass and eyed it. "I should probably take the bottle when I go, to keep you from being tempted."

"You want it…you can b-buy it. I need the cash." He waved his left hand around the room. "Any thing else you want to b-buy?"

"How about your silence? The things you know about me would fill a book."

Malcolm laughed. "F-five hundred quid a month will do f-for start."

"Hey…that's actually not a bad idea." Jamie sat back down, but on the edge of the bed this time.

"What? B-black..mail?"

"That's always an option, but no. I'm talking about what's in your head." He hopped to his feet and pointed at Malcolm's head. "You've got twelve plus years of memories still in there just waiting to get out."

"What are you talking ah…b-bout?"

"You're gonna write a book!"

Malcolm looked perplexed. "A b-book? I can't…spell most of the time."

"You don't have to write it yourself. You just collaborate with someone and they write it for you."

"I don't know?"

"The bleedin' masses would love to know what you know. It's like you said Malcolm, they love lookin' at the skid marks! You can just charge them for the pleasure!"

Malcolm shook his head. Not believing what he was hearing. Him…Pandering to the public! _Fuckin' hell! How did my life come to this?_

"C'mon Malcolm. Fuck the system!"

He looked up at Jamie…urging him on. _Why not?_ "Ok."

"Ok? Ok? Go ahead and say it…Fuck the system!"

"F-fuck the system."

"Louder than that!"

"F-fuck the sys…sys…stum!"

Malcolm's inability to pronounce certain letters worsened when he became excited or tried to speak to fast. Jamie knew that and decided no to push it. "Ehh…that'll do." He tossed back the rest of his drink and then slammed the empty glass down on the table next to Malcolm's chair. "Just don't you write about me…or you'll make me have to fuckin' break your good leg."

Malcolm laughed. He felt better than he had just hours ago, and for the first time since his stroke he could see a possible future. _I got a fuckin' plan!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The euphoria of 'the plan' quickly wore off when reality set in. A decision had been made, but he quickly ran into problems with its execution, namely with the hiring of a writer. In dealing with the press, Malcolm had threatened so many journalists over the course of his career that it was hard to find any writer that wanted to work with him. And the ones that did, Malcolm always had a reason why they weren't good enough.

"Josh Lawrence?" He repeated the name Jamie read off a list. "I would-ent let that douche b-bag clean my...toilet!"

Jamie read another name.

"That b-bitch tried to stab me with a pen once"

"To be fair, you called her a fuckin' useless cunt who couldn't get laid at a blind orgy."

Malcolm shrugged. "True. I won…der why she wants to work with me?"

"She probably just wants to stab you in the back with that pen of hers."

They laughed and Jamie quickly scratched a few more off his list without running them past Malcolm.

"How about Kate Thompson?"

"Who's that? Is she Emma Thom…sons sister?"

"No…oo," Jamie chuckled. "She wrote a children's book."

Malcolm made a face.

"She won an award!"

"What? A make the little chil-dren...happy award?"

"Hey, don't knock her. She's one of the few who've shown interest that you haven't fucked over at one time or another.

"Fine."

"So…I can call her?"

"Sure, you can call her."

When she came for an interview, it only lasted a half hour. In retrospect, Jamie thought it was their descriptive metaphors and Malcolm's disabilities that sent her packing. He sloshed the last bit of Malcolm's whiskey around in the bottom of his glass. "I probably came off a little strong. Do you think?"

"F-fuck all Jamie. If she can't last a half hour with us…we d-don't need her."

"Quite right...quite right."

"We could still call a pub…pub…."

"We're not calling a publisher!" Jamie had been adamant that they weren't doing that. "I told you, you'll have no control over your book and you'll have to use whatever staff writer they assign."

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair in frustration. It had grown long in the passing months and Jamie thought he was beginning to look like an aging rock star. He was certainly dressing like one. Baggy track pants ending in a pair of Crocks and an old Kinks t-shirt partially covered by an oversized hoodie had become his new look since his stroke, and if truth be told; Jamie realized how he looked probably scared off the woman more than anything else.

"Shit Malcolm, look at you. I've seen better dressed zombies stumblin' around a fuckin' George Romero film."

"What?"

"Look at what you're wearin'. You've been dressing like that ever since you got home. You forget how to wear big boy pants?"

"Why the f-fuck should I?"

"Because it's what normal people do."

"Are you sayin'…I'm a re-tard?"

Jamie wasn't about to let him off easy. "Hey, if the track pants fit!"

"D-don't matter w-what I w-wear!"

"You're a goddamn Howard Hughes wanna be. All you need is the long ass yellow fingernails and the rat's nest beard and you'll have him pegged."

"Sh-sh-shut up!"

"Make me!" Jamie deliberately mocked him childishly. That was the final straw.

They both started laughing.

Of course, when Jamie left later he had to remind Malcolm that even though they both found it funny, he was being serious. "You better be fuckin' dressed properly the next time I come over or I'll drag you out onto your stoop and fuckin' pants you in front of your neighbors."

xXx

Maggie brought her car to a stop in front of a traditional Scottish cottage set upon the bleak rolling hills of Stonehaven. The memories came flooding back as Malcolm looked at the wind weathered paint and thatched roof of his Nan's old home. He'd left Aberdeen and Stonehaven behind the day he left for University and had never looked back. It felt surreal to find himself back in Scotland after such a long absence.

"Here we are," she said.

 _Well that's obvious._ Malcolm thought as he stared at the house. He saw the front door open and a petite young woman step out. It was his niece. She was a pretty young thing with long strawberry blond hair and fine ruddy cheekbones, but she might as well be a stranger. The last time he's seen her she was probably ten or twelve and it was the one time Sharon had managed to drag him to a family gathering. Maggie got out of the car and went to greet her. When they hugged, Malcolm realized that his sister had a life he knew nothing about…that he had a family he knew nothing about. Hell, he knew more about the families of his former staff members than he did of his own!

Malcolm opened the car door and reached back to grab a pair of elbow crutches resting in the gap between the front seats. The grip of his right hand improved enough that he could use them now instead of the clunky walker. Taking Jamie's threat to heart, he had cut his hair and made a wardrobe change for the visit. He'd gained a few pounds since his stroke so his sister picked him up two new pairs of grey slacks, a pair of black loafers and a blue and a black polo shirt. He wore the blue shirt today along with an old maroon Members Only jacket he'd found in the back of his closet. It was early summer, but the wind along the coast always carried a chill.

As he slammed shut the car door he looked up in time to see his niece waving at him.

"Hi, Uncle Malcolm!" She called out.

Malcolm cringed. _Gotta nip that in the bud!_ He walked over and said, "P-please, just call me Malcolm." She gave him a hug. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been hugged and he stood there stiffly. He was relieved when she let go.

"Ok," she replied. "You can call me Tilley." Her real name was Teresa Reid and her husband's name was Cameron, whom he didn't see around at the moment. "Come on inside, we can have some tea before we show you around the property. Cam's been out with the sheep, but he's due back any moment."

 _Sheep! What the fuck am I doing here?_

Maggie saw him frown and knew what he was thinking. "The place hasn't changed much," she commented as they reached the front door.

Tilley held the door for them. "Other than adding a few modern amenities on the inside, we've tried to keep it as authentic as possible.

"Oh!" Maggie said in surprise as she looked around the main room. "It looks just like I remember when I was little."

"The family kept most all of the furniture after Nan passed. They remind us of her and they are some really wonderful pieces."

 _Wonderfully expensive!_ Malcolm thought as he looked at what had to be a two hundred year old sideboard.

"Have a seat." She pointed to the more modern overstuffed couch in the room. I'll go find Cam and bring the tea. Be right back."

As soon as she'd left the room, Maggie leaned over whispered in his ear. "We're just here to check the place out so give it a chance and don't be an ass."

Malcolm pursed his lips and cut his eyes before hissing back sharply. "I said I would!"

"Ok." She settled back into the couch.

A few minutes later Tilley reappeared carrying a tea service. She set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Cam will be right in. He's just cleanin' the mud off his boots."

 _Mud!_ Malcolm groaned inwardly.

xXx

Two days later Malcolm was still brooding over the thought of moving to Stonehaven. Tilley and her husband Cam were nice enough, almost too nice considering the self serving bureaucrats he was used to dealing with, but the place! After living in the cacophony of London for over twenty years, the silence of Stonehaven's barren hills was deafening. And then were the other noises. The sheep and their baaaa, the hog and her six piglets grunting and squealing, and then there were the chickens and the goddam rooster that tried to attack him! _I survived a aneurysm to be killed by a bloody rooster!_ Tilley said it was probably the crutches that riled him.

Jamie was due to drop next day but Malcolm couldn't wait that long. He needed to vent his building frustration over the situation. It went straight to voicemail. _Fuck!_

"Jamie. I can't move to Stone…haven. It's like f-fuckin old McD-donald and his f-fuckin menagerie out there. Call me!"

Jamie called an hour later but it felt like ten as he waited impatiently.

"What took you so f-fuckin l-long?"

"The PM shat himself and I had to clean it up! Christ Malcolm! Wadda' think I'm fuckin' doing all day? Wankin' off?"

"Sorry. I'ts j-just…"

"I know, I know. You're stressing about the move."

"I'm not...moving!"

"Malcolm you…"

"I'm calling the pub…pub…!"

"No! No you're not. Just wait! I've got someone in mind that I think will be perfect. Just give me a few more days. Can you do that? Can you wait until friday?"

Malcolm blew out his breath in exasperation. He was tired of waiting. _Why does everything have to be so fucking difficult?_

"Malcolm?"

"What?"

"Will you wait?"

"Fine," he relented. "But I call the pub…lish...er on Mond-day if you can't f-find some…one. D-deal?"

"Ok, it's a deal."

Malcolm heard some muffled voices in the background and Jamie barked. " _Give me a fuckin' second will you!"_ Then he was back. "Sorry Malc, I need to go. But just promise you'll wait."

"Ok."

"Good, good…I Gotta go." He abruptly hung up.

Malcolm remembered the days when he used to end his conversations that way as he closed his cell phone. _Fuck, more waiting!_

 _xXx_

The next evening Malcolm anxiously awaited Jamie's Wednesday night visit. He'd lain awake most of the night wondering who he'd found. Hopefully not another children's book writer! Malcolm was startled when the doorbell rang. _What the fuck was he doing ringing the doorbell?_ He grabbed his crutched and headed to the door.

"Who's the f-fuckin' moron now?" He yelled through the door. "You lose your keys? You daft prick!" He yanked open the door "Oh, f-fuck!"

"Well, hello to you too."

Standing in his doorway was the last person he expected to see. It was Sam!

"What are you d-doing here?"

"A deranged Scotsman called me and said you were in dire need of my help."

Malcolm just stood there looking at her, still not believing his eyes. He couldn't help remembering the last time he saw her. It was the day of his stroke. The day his life changed forever. He had regretted their last meeting. _You were such a fuckin twat day!_ He was so busy internalizing, he didn't realize he was just standing there.

Sam noticed. "Are you going to invite me in?"

"Oh…sorry, yeah sure. Come in." He backed up a few steps, suddenly conscious of his metal crutches. _Damn!_ Their clacking on the floor as he followed her into the living room annoyed him even further.

"So, Jamie sent you?"

She turned to face him once thy reached the living room. "Yes, I hope you don't mind?"

"No, no. I d-don't mind at all." _Stupid aphasia!_ "It's good…to see you."

"You too."

"How have you b-been?"

"Good, you."

"B-better." He shifted self-consciously on his crutches. "Would…you like to sit down?"

"Sure." She made her way over to the small love seat positioned across from his lift chair. He really didn't need it any more and as he sat down he wish he'd gone ahead and replaced it with the full tilt recliner he'd been looking at online. He positioned his crutches against the chairs left armrest and then looked over at Sam. The first thing he notices was that her hair was down. She'd always worn it pulled back at work. It softened her features with it loose around her face. _Christ! Was she always that pretty?_ She was smiling at him. _Why is she smiling?_

"So, Jamie sent you?"

She didn't reply to his question; he already knew the answer. Instead she said, "You look good. Better than the last time I saw you."

"Yeah, that d-day in the park was…"

"I'm not talking about the park," she cut in. He looked confused so she clarified. "I came by afterwards, at the hospital."

 _Fuck!_ Nobody had told him that. He rubbed his mostly useless right hand in frustration. "Was Ollie Reeder sell-ling...tickets?"

"No, it wasn't like that. Jamie really had your back. He kept the press and the gawkers away from you. He's a really good friend; you owe him a lot."

"I know I do."

"So I hope you're not upset that he let me in to see you."

How could he be? He relaxed, letting some of the tension ease in his shoulders. "No, not at all."

"I wish I'd known," she said.

"Known what?"

"That day in the park. I wish I'd know…maybe I could of…"

"D-don't d-do that. It's not your fault. It's en…tirely on me."

She looked sad as she shook her head. "Still…"

He needed to change the subject. "So, what have you been d-doing with your…self?" He cringed as he said it, because it was then that he realized that in all the time since his accident, he never once asked after her or even called her. _God, I'm one self centered fuck!_

"I've been dancin' at the Gaslight. The tips are fantastic and they have a great benefits package."

 _What!_ "Wha…?"

Sam could tell by the way his eyes popped out of his head that he thought she was serious. "I'm joking Malcolm. I've been temping. Haven't found a place yet that I wanted to settle." She was relieved when he smiled.

Malcolm had forgotten that Sam could give as good as she could take. He liked that about her. It was his turn to apologize. "I'm sorry Sam."

She knew he was apologizing again for her employment situation. They both needed to get past the apologies. "Water under the bridge," she said waving a hand as if it was nothing.

He understood. "So why did Jamie send you?"

She was confused by is question. "He said you needed my help."

"With what?"

"He said you were going to write a book."

"Yes I am, but why did he send you. I need a writer, not an assistant."

Sam couldn't believe what he'd just said. "Malcolm? Did you ever read my resume?"

 _Crap!_ "Uh…"

"I can take that as a no. Why did you take me on all those years ago?"

"You were the only person not in-tim-i-dated b-by my b-bullshit."

"That was your vetting process?" She was surprised and couldn't help laughing.

"Sorry. I sh-should of read it."

"No. Let's stop doing that right now. No more apologizing." She held his eye with her steady gaze. "Deal?"

He smiled back. "Deal."

"For your information Mr. Tucker I have honor degrees in both English and Economics."

He arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes."

"And you were my…my…? He lost the word. _Not in front of her! Shit!_

"You're assistant?" Sam knew about his difficulty with words from Jamie. She didn't make a big deal out of it, hoping he wouldn't either. "What's so strange about that?"

"D-did…n't you want to do more?"

She gave him a sly smile. "Why do you think I wanted to work for you? I wanted to learn from the best."

He was shocked. The spin doctor had been spun and he never knew. He couldn't help but laugh.

When he stopped laughing, she had to ask. "You're not mad?"

"Why the f-fuck would I b-be mad?"

"For having ulterior motives."

"We were all p-play…ing the same game there luv, you were just b-better than us cock…sucking b-blow hards. You came in on…stealth mode!"

There it was, the shit eating grin on his face that she missed so much. It was really good to see it after all that had happened. She couldn't help but comment again. "You really do look good."

It was good to hear the compliment from someone other Jamie or his sister. He knew Sam wasn't one to give false platitudes. All his hard work _was_ paying off. "Thanks."

"So, you're wanting to write a book?"

"Jamie seems to think what's left up here…," he tapped his head, "…might be worth something."

Sam reached into the black leather carryall she'd set by her feet and pulled out a legal pad and a pen. "So where do you want to start?" She asked as she leaned back.

"Hold on!"

She was startled. "What?"

"Where's you're f-fuckin' resume? I'm not ah b-bout to hire just...anyone."

She held her laugh. "As a matter of fact…" She reached into her bag again and pulled out her resume. "I have it right here." She balled it up and threw it at him.

Malcolm caught it against his chest and then held it up. "It looks good to me," he said, before tossing it over his shoulder. He was glad to have her back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Malcolm…Malcolm."

He had fallen asleep in his chair again. Sam didn't want to yell to wake him up. She'd noticed he would wake up confused when startled awake. She saved the outline they'd been working on and closed her laptop. She slid it from her lap and set it atop the pile of Malcolm's personal papers sitting next to her on the loveseat. He'd nodded off about ten minutes ago and she'd let him sleep. Communicating with his ongoing aphasia frustrated him and left him exhausted.

Sam leaned over and picked up her cold cup of coffee from off the coffee table. As she made her way to the kitchen, she snagged Malcolm's cup from his side table. They both needed a refresh. She had poured up the last of the pot nearly an hour ago so she set about starting a new one. As she worked, she worried about the slow progress they'd been making over the last two weeks. The first week had started off with a flurry of ideas being hashed out between the two of them, but the following weeks, which involved hours of tedious research, seemed to drain Malcolm's enthusiasm. She thought he seemed unhappy. What had changed? When she returned to the living room she found him awake. "Here you go," she said handing him his cup.

"Thanks." He took a careful sip and watched Sam return to her place on the couch. The pile of papers slid into her as she sat. "You tiptoe like an el…el-ephant," he chided.

She smirked at his comment. "If I had been tiptoeing…I'd be insulted."

He grinned back at her before taking another sip.

Sam sat there holding her cup, drawing courage from its warmth. "Speaking of elephants…"

Looking confused, he stopped mid sip. "What?"

"Can we talk about the elephant in the room?"

He set down his cup and crossed his arms nervously. "What el-ephant?"

"Your mood, Malcolm. What's going on?"

He blew out a loud breath, and shaking his head he pushed his elbows into his armrests and sat up straighter. "There's…no getting any-thing past you."

"I worked with you for six years. I know your moods."

He screwed up his face. "My moods. Hmmmm? To which are you re…ferring?"

Sam had never called him out before, but things were different now. He was different.

"You seem sad about something."

He couldn't help the short sarcastic laugh that escaped his lips. "Sorry…yes, you're right. There is something b-bothering me."

"What is it?"

"It's diffff …difff…" he grimaced. "It's hard to explain."

Sam leaned back into the couch. "Take your time."

Malcolm watched as she settled in and took a long drink of her coffee. She wasn't going to let it go. But he wasn't sure she would understand. There was a quote from Shakespeare's Macbeth that had been stuck in his head for nearly a week and it summed it up best; so he started with that.

"Life's b-but a walking shadow, a poor pl-ayer that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an id-iot, full of sound and fury, sig-ni…fying noththing."

She wasn't expecting to hear that. "Macbeth? That's your problem? Too much Shakespeare will make anybody sad Malcolm. What's it got to do with…"

"Every-thing!"

 _Shit!_ His outburst startled her and she set her coffee down. She thought he was just trying to blow her off with that quote, but now he had her attention. She waited for him to speak again.

Malcolm felt he was about to jump out of his skin. He stood up and began pacing, not realizing he was without his crutches. He walked a few paces to the built in bookshelves running along the back wall of the living room and grabbed hold. Turning around he wobbled over and grabbed hold of the back of his chair, he then shuffled over to the edge of his bed, and then from his bed to the doorway. The familiar pacing helped him think and he clarified what he was trying to say on his return trip.

"It's me." He paused back at the bed. "It's my whole f-fuckin life!" He stopped again at his chair. "The last…twelve years were full of…sound and f-fury." He shuffled over to the couch and braced himself on the armrest. He then leaned down, grabbed a few of the loose pages off the seat next to Sam and tossed them into the air. "And they sig-nify nothing!"

Sam picked up one of the pages that had fallen at her feet and she waved it at him. "This is not nothing, Malcolm! This is you keeping the wheels from falling off the bus. This is you making sure that all our self serving civil servants followed the PM's ideals and directives. This…," she shook the page at him again. "This is you stopping a colossal fuck-up!" She picked up another page from off the couch. "This is you saving the face of the PM day after day." She picked up another. "This is you doing a thankless job."

She reached for another page, but Malcolm reached down and took hold of her hand.

"I get it Sam." He squeezed her hand. "Thank you." He gave it another squeeze before letting go. Slightly embarrassed by her passionate defense, Sam quickly busied herself picking up the remaining pages he'd tossed about. She listened as he shuffled back to his chair and heard it creak as he sat. What she heard next surprised her.

"But...that's not exactly what I was re…ferring to."

She looked up. He was sitting back in his chair, his hands steepled against his lips.

"Okaaay?" She replied as she tapped the pages in her hand against the table to straighten them.

Malcolm dropped his hands to his lap and began to unconsciously rub his right hand. Sam noticed he always did this when he was nervous. "I was re…ferring to the fact that…had I never taken this job…in the whole scheme of things…it would-ent really have mattered."

Sam was shocked. "I'd have never taken you for an existentialist."

Malcolm couldn't help but laugh. She didn't know him as well as she thought she did. "I have a degree in Philosophy along with my Masters in Communications."

"Seriously?"

He chuckled again. "Yes."

"I always wondered where your closing comments came from during the inquiry. You really do care."

He didn't know what to say. He'd been found out. Underneath it all, he really did have a heart. He gave in to the smile she was giving him. "Guilty," he smiled back.

Suddenly Sam had an epiphany. "That's it!"

"What?"

She grabbed her laptop. "That's why you're not happy!"

"What are you…talking about?"

"We're writing the wrong story!"

"What do you mean?"

"Jamie's been pushing you to write about a sensational tell-all. That's not what you want to do. You want to write about who you are, and how much you care about the fucked up system of government that you worked for. You want people to know the man behind the mask."

Malcolm didn't reply. He had to think about what she'd said. Was that what he wanted? To bare his soul for all to see? To transform himself into the philosopher spin-doctor? As he sat there, something began to happen. His hands began tingling and his heart started racing. _Oh god! She was right!_

Sam started typing on her laptop.

"What are you writing?"

"We'll begin with the ending." He fingers were flying across the keyboard.

"The ending?" He queried.

"Yes." She kept tapping away. "Well start the book with the Goolding inquiry and what happened to you after that and then transition in the next chapter to your childhood and build from there."

 _Damn, she was good!_ But could he do it? Could he bare his soul? He chewed nervously on his thumbnail.

"Malcolm?"

He didn't hear her.

"Malcolm?" She repeated.

He looked up. "What?"

"Are you with me on this?"

Malcolm realized the relief he felt at the thought of scrapping the other book. "Yeah," he nodded at Sam. "Let's do it."

xXx

Jamie was livid. "Why the fuck do you want to do that? You're taking a sure thing and scrapping it for…for…for what?"

Malcolm knew this was coming and was dreading Jamie's reaction. "For me! It's my b-book , its my ch-choice!"

Jamie flailed his arms in frustration. "Ahh…it's my fault. I shouldn't have sent you Sam. She got you talking about your feelins and now you can't think straight!"

"That's not why! I wasn't…happy with the b-book we were writing. She just p-pointed it out."

"You can't miss this opportunity Malcolm. If this…this _retrospective_ of yours fails, no publisher will touch a second one."

Malcolm shook his head defiantly. "I can't d-do it…I just can't. It's not in me."

Jamie threw his hands up in surrender. "Ok. You do what you have to, but don't you fuckin' ask to stay at my house when you're broke and homeless."

xXx

A week later Sam and Malcolm had finished the first chapter. Recent history was easy. It was delving into the past where they ran into trouble. And it began with the box of family photographs Malcolm's sister had brought round.

Sam arrived to a mess of photos scattered on the floor around his chair. "What's all this?"

"Family photos," he replied tersely as he sat back down in his chair. He picked up a shoebox full of them from off his side table and placed it in his lap. Sam approached the scattered pile on the floor and squatted down to pick through them, as she did another one landed on the floor in front of her. She picked it up. It was of a small sandy haired boy with a wild grin and even wilder hair, sitting on a small bicycle with training wheels. She picked up another. It was a group photo taken at Christmas time. The same little boy, a little older and now missing two front teeth was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his smiling family. "This is you?" She asked, flashing the faded color photo up at him.

"Yes."

Another curt reply. He even barley looked at her or the photo. _What is going on?_

"Malcolm?" She stood up and flapped the photo at him. "Why are these on the floor?"

"I d-don't re…member them." He tossed another to the floor before looking up at her. "How can we write…the next chapter if I can't re…member?"

 _Oh hell!_ She hadn't noticed till now, but his eyes looked red. She wondered if he'd been crying. _Be supportive._ "It's just an obstacle Malcolm. Not the end. We can figure this out." She reached out her hand and she saw a corner of his mouth turn up when he put his hand in hers. She gave him a squeeze and an encouraging smile.

"Ok," he replied.

Sam spent the next few minutes crawling around on the floor gathering up the photos. She took them back with her to the loveseat and flipped trough them. Looking up for a second, she saw that Malcolm was watching her. "C'mere, "she said, patting the empty spot next to her. "And bring the box."

He was going to protest that he couldn't carry it over, but she was ignoring, flipping through more pictures. _Ok. I can do this._ He reached for his crutches and realized he could only use one if he carried the box. "Hmmmm." It took him some time, but he managed to make his way over to Sam. She took the box from him. Setting it in her lap she waited for him to sit. The loveseat was lower than his chair and he had to use the coffee table for support when he felt himself wobble. He smashed up against her as he plopped down.

"Sorry."

She patted him on the knee. "It's alright."

Malcolm thought it suddenly felt a lot warmer in the room. _Close quarters, small couch. Yeah, that's it._ While he was busy thinking, Sam was busy digging in the box. She pulled one out. "Ah! Look at this…a teenage Malcolm!"

His hair was long, about shoulder length, and just as wild as he had seen in his photo as a child. "What are you wearing?"

Malcolm took the picture from her hand and stared at it for a moment. Sam heard him sigh before he handed it back. "I d-don't re-member this."

"Ok, but look at how you're dressed. Tight black jeans. A snug t-shirt. You were definitely into the punk scene. You must remember that."

"Sure, I still enjoy…the sev-enties punk sound."

"Well then, that's a start. You can build on that."

"But how d-do I build…on what I can't re…member?"

The Christmas photo that Sam was looking at earlier caught her eye from where it lay on the coffee table. She shoved the box of photos off into Malcolm's lap and leaned forward to pick it up. Leaning back, she held it out in front of him and pointed to the little girl sitting next to him in the picture. "Who's that?"

"It's my sister."

Sam turned towards him on the couch. "Yes. And she's also in the picture." She paused, waiting to see if Malcolm understood.

He looked at her, arching an eyebrow. "And?"

"And she's your memory." Sam pressed the photo into his hand. "You need to call her."

Malcolm smiled. "I don't pay you enough."

Sam laughed. "No…you don't pay me at all." She leaned to her left and playfully nudged his shoulder with hers. "Or have you forgotten?" After Malcolm had reviewed her resume, Sam had agreed to work part time for a percentage of the profits, though he had insisted she accept a small retainer.

"Not funny." He half chuckled.

"I thought it was."

They didn't get any work done that night. Instead they spent the evening looking at photos while she laughed at his embarrassment. He laughed too.

xXx

Two days later, Sam couldn't wait to get to Malcolm's after finishing her day job. She had a gift for him. One he could definitely use and hoped he would like. When she arrived at is flat she eagerly knocked on his door. Maybe a little too eagerly?

Malcolm opened it with a snarky comment. "Jesus Sam, you sounds like a f-fuckin' wood-pecker...hammerin' on my door! He could tell by the big smile on her face and by the way she was hiding her hands behind her back that something was up. "What's going on?"

"Ta-da!" She exclaimed as she whipped her right hand back around and held out her gift. It was blue anodized metal cane with a black curved soft grip handle.

He just stood there speechless, blinking at her.

"Come on!" She said by way of encouragement, taking a step closer. She looked down at his pair of elbow crutches. "You hate those things. Admit it." When she looked back up, he was frowning. "Besides," She said reaching out to take hold of his left forearm with her free hand. She slid her hand down to his and pulled the crutch from his grip. "You don't need them anymore." And she pressed the new cane into his hand.

He held it for a moment, judging its weight and feel before handing her his other crutch. Still frowning he said, "Ok, let's try this thing out." He turned around, initially holding on to the wall with his free hand as he made his way back towards the living room. He paused at the doorway and looking back at Sam, he smirked at her. "If I go d-down…it's on you." And with that, took off towards his chair.

Sam saw him wobble a few times as he started off, but by the time he reached his chair his gait was steady and she watched as he kept going…around the coffee table, back across the living room and off into the kitchen. When he returned to the living room, he was grinning like and idiot and moving towards her at a brisk pace.

Malcolm was so excited with his new found freedom he couldn't wait to thank her. He stopped in front of her he grabbed her into a hug. "Thank you!" He kissed her on the cheek as he let her go. "How did you know?"

Sam felt herself blushing head to toe from his enthusiastic thank you. "The…the other day…" she stammered. "You were pacing around the room without your crutches."

"I was?" He was so focused on what he had to say, he didn't notice. "I was," he grinned. "I didn't realize."

"Well, I did."

Malcolm was overwhelmed. She had done so much for him in such a short time. He wanted to do something for her in return. He help up a finger. "Wait here." He spun around and headed off into the kitchen. When he returned, he was shoving something into his back pocket.

"What's that?" She asked.

"My wallet," he replied. "I'm taking you to d-dinner."

He held out his hand and she took it without argument.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

With his sister's help, Malcolm's was slowly remembering. He was still shocked at how his long term memory had been affected by the stroke. It seemed that anything before his time at Number 10 was a jumble of hit and miss. Looking through pictures he found he could remember a cousin but not an uncle. He remembered the vacations he and his sister spent at Stonehaven as children, but not the home they grew up in. He remembered his days in primary school, but not the names of most of his school friends. Luckily, his memories weren't gone forever they just needed 'rebooting'. That was the phrase Sam had used. The problem with rebooting was, it was eating into the time spent working on his book.

Malcolm had seen Sam only once since he took her to dinner and that had been nearly three weeks ago. They had both agreed over their meal that he should focus on remembering before they tried to continue on with his book. _Stupid memory!_ He missed her. _Maybe_ _I should write that 'tell-all' book instead?_ As much as he loved regaining his past and spending time with his sister, it was by the third week spent with her that he noticed how she acted more like his parent than as his sister and it was beginning to annoy him.

Maggie had arranged to spend a couple of hours with him every day to look through old photos and talk about the past, but and as soon as she was through his door she would start in on him about something.

"Did you shower last night?"

"You need to do the washing up in the kitchen."

"Have you worked on your math program today?" (She'd bought him a primary school maths program and loaded it onto his computer.)

"Weren't you wearing that same shirt yesterday?"

"You really need to clean up this room."

He let his resentment fester.

It was early on a Saturday morning when she arrived at his place to take him on a trip back to Aberdeen; back to where they both grew up. It would be the first time either of them had been back in years.

Maggie flipped through her key ring at his front door till she found the key to his flat and she let herself in.

"Mornin' Malcolm!" She called out as she entered into the front hallway. She made her way into the living room and that's where she found him, asleep in his new recliner. Again! All the living room lights were on and the tv was chattering away. An empty bag of crisps lay forgotten in his lap and some of its remnants were scattered over the front of his t-shirt. Maggie shook her head at the state of him and when she touched his arm to shake him awake his arm was cold to her touch. _Dammit!_

She shook him."Malcolm! Malcolm! Wake up!"

His sleep groggy eyes opened and he blinked up at her. "Hey." He shifted in his chair and started rubbing the chill from his arms. "What time is it?"

"It's almost nine. You were supposed to be ready. We're driving to Aberdeen today." She balled up her hand and rested on her hip to telegraph her annoyance. " Or have you forgotten?"

"Noo, I haven't _forgotten."_

"Then why aren't you up and dressed?" She reached down and snatched the empty bag out of his lap. "And is this what you had for dinner last night?" She waved her hand with the bag around the room. "You've left nearly every light on in the house; your light bill is going to be through the roof!" She gave him a disapproving frown. "And what did I tell you about not sleeping in your recliner? "

Malcolm furrowed his brow at her remarks and as he pushed in the footrest to stand up he mumbled, "You're not my m-mother." under his breath.

"What was that?" Maggie demanded.

He stood up and faced her. "I said...you're not my m-mother!"

"Jesus Christ Malcolm, chill out. Now go and get dressed." She reached down and grabbed the remote up off his end table and flicked off the TV. "You're clothes are hanging in the bathroom, I put them there yesterday." She started making her way around the room, flipping off the lights. "And make sure you wear your black shoes and not the brown ones this time. " She made her way back to where he was still standing and gave him a quick once over. "And for gods sake, run a comb through your hair and your electric razor over your face. You don't want to look like a homeless man when we stop in to see Uncle Frank."

She noticed he still hadn't moved. "Well hurry up. Don't just stand there, we've got a long drive ahead of us."

"Get out."

"What?"

He pointed towards the front door. "Get out."

Maggie crossed her arms and laughed. She thought he was having her on. That was until she saw his eyebrows furrow and his tell-tale vein pop out on the left side of his forehead. She hadn't seen that since...

"Get the f-fuck out of my house!"

She thought he was over reacting and tried to placated him. "Malcolm what are you..."

"Fuck off!"

She was bewildered by the vehemence of his outburst and just stood there. That was until Malcolm grabbed her by the right forearm and began pushing her back out of the room.

"Malcolm!" She protested.

"Go!"

She noticed his face becoming redder.

"Go! Now! Get out!"

She didn't understand what was happening. "What's gotten into you?"

They were now at the front door and he yanked it open. "I said, ffuck off!" He pushed her by the shoulder and out onto the landing.

"Malcolm, I'm only trying to help you! You..."

"Then leave me alone!" It was the last thing he barked at her as he slammed the door closed . He turned the deadbolt and started to walk off but then turned back around. He lifted the chain on the door frame and slid it into place. _There!_

He could hear his sister knocking on the door as he walked away. "Malcolm! Malcolm!"

As he returned to the living room he heard her unlocking the door with her key. He smiled when he heard the latch catch.

"Malcolm? Come back here and open this door! Malcolm!"

He sat back down in his recliner and turned up the volume on the TV with his remote until it was loud enough to drown her out.

* * *

It wasn't until late the following evening that he heard knocking at his door again. He ignored it. He heard a key in the lock and smiled smugly to himself . _Still cant get in!_ The latch was still on. He thought it was his sister again until he heard the male voice calling to him through the space in the door. It was Jamie.

"Malcolm? What the fuck are you doin' man? Open the door!"

Malcolm got up and headed towards the door, but stopped short when he heard: "You're sister called me. Let me in."

He peered through the gap in the door at Jamie. "What? Are you my dad now?"

"Ah! She told me what happened and no! I'm not your dad! So let me in!"

Malcolm was aggravated again. At his sister for calling Jamie, and at Jamie for showing up.

"Sorry." Malcolm spat out. "I'm not re-ceiving...visitors today." He turned and walked away.

As he did, he heard Jamie rattling the door back and forth against the chain. "Malcolm would you just..."

By the time Malcolm made it to the end of the hallway he heard, "Oh fuck this!" followed by a loud crash. He turned around to find his door wide open and Jamie lying face down across the threshold.

"You're payin' for that," was all Malcolm said before turning away to leave Jamie lying there groaning and rubbing his shoulder.

When Jamie finally make it into the living room he found Malcolm in his recliner watching the telly. He stood beside the recliner. "So what the fuck is going on with..."

The volume of the TV suddenly went up.

"...you and your sister!"

Malcolm was intent on ignoring him, so Jamie walked over to the TV and turned it off. Malcolm turned it back on. Jamie then reached behind the TV and yanked the cord out of the wall. He turned round just in time to catch the remote that Malcolm threw at his chest. Jamie quickly tossed it back. Malcolm's reflexes where slow and the remote caught him square across the nose.

"Ahhhh!"

Malcolm yelled in pain and Jamie yelled, "Oh fuck!" as blood began staining the front of Malcolm's white t-shirt. He ran from the room and returned seconds later with a handful of kitchen towels. He shoved them at Malcolm's face.

Malcolm snatched them out of his hand and he pressed them gingerly to his nose. "Ow, ow!"

"Come on." Jamie put a hand on Malcolm's arm to help him up. "You need to hang your head over the kitchen sink till it stops bleedin'"

Malcolm shook him off. "Fuh-off." He grunted through the towels.

Jamie threw up his hands in mock surrender and took two steps back. "Fine by me. Bleed all over your new chair then."

After a couple of tries Malcolm finally managed to push himself out of his recliner on his own. Jamie followed him to the kitchen and took a seat on one of the island's bar stools. He waited in silence while Malcolm rinsed, cursed and dabbed at his nose over the sink. It was several minutes before the bleeding stopped. Malcolm turned around to faced Jamie and the two Scotsmen engaged in a staring contest before Jamie finally spoke up.

"Looks like you've been in a fight," he said, touching his own nose. "You should be able to milk that for about a week."

Malcolm reached up and rattled a pan hanging from a rack above the island. "Nobody would blame me if I beat you to death with a ffrying pan...right now."

"Lighten up Malcolm. It was an accident."

" _Lighten up! Chill out!"_ Malcolm spat out. "Do you and my sister sit around...com-paring notes? Because I've really had enough!"

Jamie was still as confused as from the moment he burst through the door. "What the hell are you on about?"

"I'm tired of b-being treated like a...child! I'm tired of not having any p-privacy! I'm tired of every...body coming and going...in and out of my house...without knocking! Cri...ticizing how I look, how I live and where I sleep! I've had it!"

After he finished his outburst, Malcolm didn't know what he expected Jamie to say, or not say. What he didn't expect him to do was laugh. And when he did, Malcolm seriously considered grabbing the frying pan. "What's so f-funny?" He demanded instead.

"You." Jamie grinned at him. "What took you so long?"

"So long?" Malcolm was confused. "Fffor what?"

Jamie slid off his stool and came round the island and slapped a friendly hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "For you to get your balls back!"

He still didn't understand. "What?" Malcolm flicked his eyes down to his waist and then back up at Jamie. "I don't...I don't know if they..."

"No! You daft prick! I'm not talkin' about your actual balls. I'm talkin' about you finally having the balls to kick us out of your house, out of your day to day life."

"You're not mad?"

"No!"

Malcolm gently touched the cut on his nose."You sure a-bout that?"

Jmaie laughed and rubbed his own shoulder. "Ok. Yes, maybe I was a little mad. But it was only at the way you handled the whole situation. Why didn't you just say something instead of going off on us like that?"

"I dunno?"

"Let's just say your social skills still need a little work and we'll leave it at that. Ok?"

Malcolm was now smiling back at his friend. "Ok."

"So," Jamie said, digging his hand in his pocket and pulling out his car keys. "Do you want your key back?"

"I d-dont need my key's back. I just want every...one to knock ffrom now on."

"I can do that. And I'll have a talk with your sister. She's upset with you at the moment, so when you do see her again you need apologize."

"I will."

"I also told her when she called me that you two should take a break, so pack a bag. You're kipping on my sofa tonight and tomorrow I'm taking you to Aberdeen."

"You're taking me? D-dont you have...work tomorrow?"

"Don't worry about that. It's all arranged. So hurry up, get changed and packed I want a drink and I left your bottle at my place."

Malcolm smirked at his comment before turning away. He began opening and closing cabinet doors until he found what he what he wanted. "Here," he said, setting and empty jelly jar down onto the counter next to Jamie.

"What's that for?"

"Donations." Malcolm said before leaving the room. "That was a sixty euro bottle of w-whiskey."

* * *

With a lot of prodding on Jamie's part and a lot of grumbling on Malcolm's, they set off in Jamie's car by six the next morning. It was about ten minutes into the drive before Malcolm finally noticed where they weren't.

"This isn't the way to Aberdeen."

"Yes it is."

"No, it's not. I may have for...gotten a ffew things but I do re...member that the A3 does not take you to Scotland."

"Oh yes it does." Jamie smiled slyly at Malcolm. "There's more that one way to Aberdeen."

"What the ffuck is that su-pose to mean?"

"Wait and see."

Another twenty minutes later Jamie was pulling into a parking garage.

"This is ffamiliar."Malcolm mumbled more to himself that to Jamie. "Why is this...?"

"Welcome to Guilford Senior Care Facility. The next best thing to Aberdeen."

Malcolm cut him a glare. "You do re-member I hate surprises."

"Yes. I do. But I also remember that you love your mother and that you haven't seen her since Maggie brought her to see you while you were in hospital."

"You're right. " He sighed. "I should have come sooner, but the more time p-passed...the harder it got."

"Well, no excuse now. She's expecting you. Room 112. I'll pick you up this evening around eight."

Malcolm's eyes went wide. "All day?"

Jamie shook his head in annoyance. "I'm sorry, Mr. Tucker. Should I have checked your calendar? Did you have lunch scheduled with the Queen? Now hurry up and get the fuck out of my car or I'll be late for work."

And much to Malcolm's surprise, the visit with his mother turned out to be better than any trip to Aberdeen.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

After his big blow up, Malcolm's life began to change for the better. He hadn't realized how much losing control over his life had sent him into state of fearful inaction. The initial fear after his stroke had been fear of imminent death. Especially after the infection with his drain tube. _Don't move around in bed too much, don't touch the tube._ Next came the fear of never recovering the full use of his body. _Can't use a walker. What if I fall? Can't exert myself: What if I have another stroke?_ Then came the fear of the unknown. _Can't take care of myself. Friends and family will have to look after me forever._ _Can't be seen in public. What would people say?_

It had taken him a little over a year, but his life was now his own again. He did his own shopping, washing and cleaning (or not) . He wore what he wanted. Shaved or didn't shave. He even had control over his own finances, meager as they were, thanks to his maths program. But even with all his new found freedom he was still unsure about his future. But to his delight, and distraction, Sam had returned to work and that kept his mind off too much introspection and put it back onto retrospection, which was where it needed to be for his book to progress. She was currently sitting on his couch, hunched over and flipping through one of he numerous stacks of notes he'd taken. She pulled out a page, squinted at what was written and then waved it in the air to get his attention.

"Interpreter!" She barked out.

That was his cue. His right hand was still crap with a pen so all his notes were written in his left hand scrawl. Sometimes even he couldn't tell what he'd written. Malcolm looked up from the sheet of a4 he was reading and then set it atop his end table. He was rereading the first three chapters of what they'd written. He made his way over, took the page from her hand and gave it a quick once over.

"Uhhmm..."

Sam shook her head in frustration, stretched back into the couch and rubbed her eyes. "Malcolm, you really need to use your computer for this. It has spell check. Even you can't decipher most of what you've written." She snagged the page from him.

"Sorry," he frowned taking a seat next to her. "This isn't going very well, is it?"

"The book is coming along fine. It's just a little slow at the moment."

He let out an audible sigh and Sam stood up to stretch her back . Malcolm watched as she stepped over pages littering the floor near the couch and made her way around the coffee table.

She waved a hand at her computer. "Ergonomically speaking, this coffee table is killing my back." She walked around the room a bit before stopping next to his bed.

"F-feel... ffree to have a lie down." He offered.

"You know what?" She said.

"What?"

"This would be a perfect place to put a large work table."

"Then where would I put my bed. The hallway?" He snickered at his own suggestion.

She looked over at him. "Do you still need it?"

He laughed at her question "D-do I need it? It's my bed. It's where I ...sleep!"

She pointed upwards. "What about your bedroom upstairs?"

His mouth opened and closed but he didn't have an answer he wanted to give her.

Sam looked at him in disbelief. "When was the last time you were upstairs?"

"I uh... haven't..." Embarrassed, he just shrugged. His whole world had encompassed the downstairs since coming home from the hospital that he hadn't even thought about moving back up there.

"Seriously?" She made her way over to the staircase. looked the stairs and then back at him. "Come on," she said with a jerk of her head.

Truth be told, he was avoiding it. The staircase. Sure, he was ok with one or two steps up or down, but thinking about going up and down that number of steps at that steep angle scared the shit out of him. He didn't get up. And as he sat there he could feel his heart starting to pound out a rhythm in his chest.

Even from across the room Sam could see the panic in Malcolm's eyes. She walked back over to where he was sitting and held out her hand. "Just because you haven't, doesn't mean you can't. Come on," she gave him a smile of encouragement. "Let's give it a go."

He looked at her hand and then up at her face. _Dammit! Why does she have to smile at me like that?_ He sighed resolutely and then put his hand in hers. She gave him a tug off the couch and led him over to the stairs.

He looked up the stairs and then back at Sam. _Great, I survived a stroke just to die on my staircase!_

And as if she could read his mind she said. "You're not gonna' fall down the stairs."

Malcolm put his hand onto the handrail. Luckily the rail was on the left which would make going up easier. "I'm gonna need my cane. I left it by my chair."

"I'll get it. Hang on." She was quickly back with his cane. "Here."

It was slow going up one step at a time but he eventually made it to the top.

"Well that wasn't too hard," Sam commented as they stood together on the landing.

Malcolm looked back down the stairs. "It's not going up...that worries me." He arched and eyebrow at her before turning towards the door to the right of the landing. Sam followed him in.

It was his office.

"Ah, the Bat Cave." Sam said, giving the room a quick once over.

"Sorry, what?"

She laughed. "It's like Batman's bat cave. Your inner sanctum."

"Was," he said as memories of his former life came flooding back. He watched as Sam ran her fingers across the front edge of his large and obscenely expensive mahogany desk. She then pointed to the reinforced locking file cabinet just behind and to the left of his desk.

"Is that where the bodies are buried?"

"If you only knew," he smirked.

She smiled back and wandered over to the massive book shelf lining the wall opposite the door. She perused the titles. Most were political., historical or biographical in nature. But her eye soon caught something tucked away on one of the bottom shelves that made her laugh. It was a hardback set of the Harry Potter series.

"What's so...f-funny?"

She pulled out one of the books and held it up. "Seriously? You read Harry Potter?"

He gave her a frown and headed back behind his desk. He took a seat in his leather clad office chair and pointed at the book. "That's your fault."

"How is this," she held the book out. "My fault?" And dropped it with a loud smack atop his desk.

"You're the one who told me about it."

"Only because you wanted to know why Reeder kept calling you Voldemort!" she said defensibly.

Malcolm gave her a knowing smile and cracked open the book. Sam could see there was something written on the cover page. _What! No way!_

"You didn't...that's not..."

"Not what? He teased. "A signed first edition?"

"How did you...?

"Pip, pip!" He replied, closing the cover.

Sam was taken aback. Not by the fact he'd met J.K. Rowling, but rather by what he just said. She hadn't heard that in over a year. _Pip pip!_ It was his euphemism for _Power Has Its Privilege._ He was always tossing it off at her whenever she wanted to know how he scored a perk or did something that would have gotten a lesser man sacked or thrown in jail. She forgotten how much she missed the old days and how much things had changed. She felt herself tearing up so she turned away and pretended to look at his books again.

He's noticed. _Shit!_ He pushed up out of his chair. "Come on." He said, shuffling out from behind his desk. "Lets go...check out the cob-webs in my bedroom."

When they entered his bedroom, Sam noticed there weren't so much as cobwebs as there was a buildup of dust, just as there had been in his office.

Malcolm wandered past his bed. Sighing in embarrassment at his fancy duvet with it's subtle dark blue and gold paisley pattern with heavy its gold trim and the matching pillows with their gold tassals.. _Christ! Was I really that pretentious?_ Opening his closet and took in the neatly arranged suits. Three black, three blue and three gray. All in order from dark to light, followed by twelve identical starched white dress shirts. His ties were hanging evenly from a rack on the back of the closet door. _And was I really this anal?_ He moved on to his dresser and pulled open the middle drawer. His undershirts, underwear and socks were all neatly folded and arranged inside. Shutting the drawer, he blew out a breath and went to sit on his bed.

Sam was watching him the whole time. When he sat on the bed she went to sit next to him. He's been unusually quiet so she waited for him to speak.

"It feels like ...a stran-gers room," he finally said.

"How's that?" Sam asked.

"It's all too neat." He looked at her.. "It's been so long . I'd f-for-gotten."

She looked at him curiously. "Forgotten?"

"Yeah. I'd f-for-gotten who I used to be." He waved his hand with a flourish around the room. "I'm not this man any-more."

"I know you're not." She said in agreement.

He flopped back on his bed sighing heavily again, She noticed he seemed to be doing that a lot.

"So change it," she said looking down at him.

He gave her a confused look. "Change what?"

"This room, for starts. What don't you like about it?"

That's easy, he thought. "I hate this com-fforter."

She snickered and noticed he cut her eyes at her. "What else, " She prodded.

"My closet."

"Your closet?"

"Sorry, every-thing in my closet."

"You don't like your suits.?"

He sat up. "They're all right, I guess. But..." He pushed up off the bed and opened wide the closet door. "I d-don't need .three of each color. And why the f-fuck did I...do this? I'mean...look at this! Ever-thing is...per-fectly spaced. Look at the ties! There's not one...hanging even a centi-meter longer than the others!"

Sam joined him at he closet. "You were a man who spent his days making order out of chaos, Malcolm. I think your work just spilled over into your life,that's all."

The look he gave in response said he didn't quite believe her.

She ignored it and continued on. "This," she said pointing a his ties. "Is an easy fix." She reached out and gently tugged one of the ties down to hang lower than the other and she saw a mile tug up the right corner of his mouth. Malcolm returned to his dresser and pulled open the middle drawer again. He pulled out one of his perfectly folded t-shirts, shook it open and dropped it to the floor.

"There you go!" Said Sam, as she joined him at the dresser. She pulled out a pair of his evenly rolled socks. She let them unroll and dangled them in her hands for a moment before letting them fall atop the t-shirt. Malcolm pulled out another shirt and tossed it across the room. Sam laughed and tossed the next pair of sock's at Malcolm's chest.

His eyebrows shot of a second before he reached in for another shirt and tossed it at her. Sam grabbed an armload of his socks and moved back towards the door before tossing another at him. It hit him in the head. He threw a shirt at her and Sam laughed as she threw more socks. Malcolm started flinging all the contents of the drawer at her. Sam kept on laughing until a pair of his boxers landed on her head.

It suddenly got quiet as soon as they both realized she was standing there holding his underwear.

"When does the pillow fight start?"

The loud voice coming from behind Sam caused her to jump away from the door in fright. She spun around and stumbled back into the bed.

"What the fuck!" Malcolm yelled at Jamie who stood grinning in the doorway.

Sam finally recovered from her initial shock and had a few choice words to add to the conversation.

"Christ! You scared the shit out of me!"

Jamie thumbed over his shoulder. "There's a loo across the hall luv if you need to clean up." He bent over and snagged a pair of boxers off the floor and began twirling them on his finger. He was glad to see Malcolm happy for a change, but it didn't mean he was going to let him off easy "Can I join in?"

"What are you d-doing here?"

"I came by to see if you wanted to go to dinner, but it looks like you already have plans."

Malcolm moved in on Jamie and steepled his left hand against his friends chest. "D-didn't we have a talk about...knocking? He gave him a slight push backwards.

Jamie pressed back against Malcolm's hand. "I did knock! But you two were too busy playin' with your knickers to notice." He held up the pair he was still holding. Malcolm snatched them from his hand and turned away before the embarrassing redness creeping up his neck made it to his face.

Sam intervened as Malcolm threw the underwear back into the drawer. "Give it a rest Jamie. This is the first time he's been back upstairs. We were just going through his things."

Jamie swiveled his head to take in the rest of the clothes scattered around the room. "Aye, looks like you were certainly doing that." His eyes came back to rest on Malcolm who was now picking up socks in front of the dresser. "Is that true? Is this really the first time you've been up here?"

He turned around to face Jamie. "Yes, it is, alright." he replied, flailing a sock around in his left hand. "I was afraid of the stairs, ok. Happy now?"

"Why the fuck are you too embarrassed to tell me about that? You certainly didn't care when you were just home from hospital an I had to help change your pants when you accidentally pissed yourself. Or, what about all those times you needed my help in and out of the shower?

The blush quickly returned to Malcolm's face. Sam was in the room. He didn't like anyone knowing what a pathetic invalid he'd been, especially Sam. He pursed his lips and glowered at Jamie.

"Don't look at me like that, or I'll pull those fuckin' caterpillars you call eyebrows off your face and squash them with my shoe!"

Malcolm only got angrier. "Oh yeah, well how 'bout I...shove my...cane so far up your ass you fffuckin' suf-focate on the rubber tip!"

Jamie retaliated. "Yeah, you do that and you'll be left crawling around on the floor like a wee baby!"

"Well I'd rather...be a crawling like a baby than a whore like you crawlin' round under the P-PM's d-desk all-day!"

"Yeah? Well he was none too pleased when I told him you'd written _Malcolm Was Here_ on the underside of his desk."

"He's j-just mad at being left with ...sloppy seconds."

Jamie had another comeback ready to spit out. In fact he had another five of them lined up raring to go, but the sound of laughter coming from the beside the bed stopped his tirade. They both stopped their banter and stared at Sam.

She noticed the quiet before she noticed their staring. "Sorry," she said reigning in her laughter. "It's just,"She waved her finger in a loop between them. " I forgot how much I missed this."

"You're more than welcome to join in, sweetheart." Jamie said sarcastically. "We can make it a threesome." He then let out a yelp as Malcolm stomped his cane on top of his foot. "For fuck sake! She knows I'm kidding!" He looked to Sam for help. "Would you tell him I'm kidding?"

"I don't thnk you were kidding when you made the same proposition to me at the christmas party three years ago."

Malcolm's eyebrows shot up and Jamie started to panic. Malcolm had always been protective of Sam.

 _A bit too protective, he thought._ And quickly did his best to explain his self under Malcolm's reproachful glare.

"You know I was too shit faced to remember that! And besides, Julius told me later that he graciously declined my offer on behalf of the both of ya."

"Jamie!" Malcolm barked to shut him up.

""What?"

"Why the f-fuck are you here again?"

"To take you to dinner."

"Well...now you'll be takin' both of us"

"I...uh...," _Oh fuck it!_ "Ok, fine."

"Sam? Malcolm motioned towards the bedroom door. "Shall we?"

"Sounds wonderful."

Jamie turned and headed out the door ahead of her but stopped short when Malcolm called out.

Woah, woah! D-dick for brains! Where do you think...you're going?"

Turning back, he thumbed over his shoulder. "To bring my car around. I had to park three blocks away."

"You're not going any-where till you help me d-down the fffuckin stairs."

Jamie waved his hand at Sam."Have her help you."

"If I f-fall, I'm not takin' her with me."

"Great. Kill me instead. Thanks a lot!"

Sam gave Jamie a playful pat on his arm as she left the room. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll make sure they bury the two of you together."

Jamie let out an indignant huff, and he expected the same response when he looked over at Malcolm...

...but he just shrugged.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

After two days spent mastering the stairs, Sam thought it was time to show him the ins and outs of online buying and selling.

They were currently seated shoulder to shoulder on his couch and Malcolm watched as she showed him some of the 'for sale' categories on Craigslist .

"How come I never knew about this?" They were currently scrolling through the 'furniture' heading and looking at pictures of tables.

"You've always been able to afford retail."

"Some of the things we looked at in the e-lec-tronic section looked b-brand new."

"They were probably stolen."

"What? How is it that this...this..." He pointed vigorously at the screen hoping it would help him find the right word. _Stupid memory!_ "Web-site!" He finally managed to spit out. "How is it that this...web site is still up and running?"

Sam clicked on the NEXT button. "Don't worry about it, nobody else does."

"Seriously?"

"Pip pip Mr. Tucker."

He raised a questioning eyebrow at her and she shoved herself playfully against his shoulder. "Poverty has its privileges ."

He didn't care to hear his own euphemism being thrown back at him so he gave her his best annoyed look. " Would you...scroll down and show me some more...tables already. It's like I'm sitting here...watching paint dry."

Sam gave him a laugh before swiping two fingers up the pad of her laptop.

* * *

Sam looked to her left at where Malcolm had set himself up at he end of his new 'used' table. While she had been diligently working at her computer, she'd noticed he'd only been staring at his. "Would you just call her already. I'm nearly done editing this chapter and I'm going to be sitting here on my hands soon with nothing to do if you don't call her. "

The _she_ Sam was pestering him about was his ex-wife, Sharon. He'd been procrastinating for days.

His face scrunched up in annoyance at her demand. "I told you. It's not that easy."

Their marriage had ended badly and they hadn't really spoken since their divorce nearly three years ago. He'd heard she had called and made inquiries as to his health while he was in the hospital, but she had never spoken to him personally during the past year. Not that he expected her too. Especially after the night their marriage ended. Even before his stroke he was never quite sure what the argument was about that had started it all, but she'd called him an asshole and a domineering control freak and he'd spat back, _Well I'd rather be that than a frigid bitch like you!_ And of course his mouth had no filter and he followed that up with. _And you know what? It's a good thing I haven't tried to fuck you in months; if I had managed to pry your legs apart long enough to get my dick up into your cunt it would have frozen up inside there like a fuckin' popsicle!_ Yeah. There was no going back from that one. She'd left that night.

"Surely enough time has passed?" Sam prodded again.

Yes. Enough time had passed, but he was worried about how much else he had forgotten. He couldn't remember how their relationship had gotten to that terrible night. Would there be anything worse than that argument?

Sam watched Malcolm squirm in his chair. She knew that he liked keeping his private life private. She'd only met Sharon a handful of times herself and she found her to be very cordial, though right before their break up she did overhear the tail end of and argument Malcolm was having with her on his cell phone one day in his office.

" _For fuck sake Sharon, would you quit calling her my work-wife! She's just my fuckin' secretary!"_ There was a pause, then he spoke again : _"Look, I don't have time for this shit. I've got work to do."_

She didn't open the door to his office until she heard: _"Fine,! Fuckin' hang up on me!"_ Followed by the sound of his cell phone hitting the wall. She was familiar with that sound, having replaced numerous ones for him over the years. Surely she hadn't been jealous of her? Malcolm never looked at her that way. He never looked at any woman that way that she'd ever noticed. He was far too focused on his job. The only mistress Malcolm had time for was his career.

"Yes, ok." She heard him relent. He breathed out heavily as he stood and picked up his cell phone off table. He slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie, grabbed his cane and coffee cup and headed off to the kitchen. Sam thought he was trudging away like a man going off to meet his doom.

She waited quietly while he was gone. Not that she was trying to eavesdrop, but she was keeping an ear open for any tell-tale shouting. None erupted. And when he returned about ten minutes later, Sam thought he actually seemed chipper!

She couldn't help but remark. "Looks like that went better than expected."

He half hid his smile behind a smirk. "Don't be so smug."

Sam put on her best pretense at being offended face. "Me? Smug? Don't be daft!"

He snickered as he walked past her and said, "Are you calling me...d- daft?"

"Says the man who had a stroke,"she retorted with a smile.

Malcolm's rear stopped halfway to his seat and he stared at her with a shocked owl like face.

 _Oh hell!_ Sam began to panic. _Not funny! Why do I try to banter? I'm crap at bantering! I'm not even remotely Scottish!_

And when her face mirrored his own, Malcolm began to laugh.

"You shit!" Sam grabbed one of the balled up drafts littering the table top and threw it at his head. She missed.

* * *

It was nearly nine o'clock when Sam finished printing out the final draft of the fourth chapter. She was normally home by eight but she wanted to wrap up the chapter and take a few days break while Malcolm met with his ex-wife. Sam looked over to the ecliner where he'd retired to over an hour ago. He had fallen asleep shortly afterwards and now she sat there listening to the printer as it quietly whirred and occasionally clunked as he snored away. Sam snickered at the site of him and then busied herself with clearing away the remnants of Chinese take-away they'd had for dinner. As she stowed away the left-overs in his fridge, she thought about what he'd said when she asked him if he'd eaten any more curry since his stroke. "Don't remind me," he'd remarked making a face and placing a hand to his stomach "Or you'll put me off my dinner." She sighed as she shut the fridge; he'd probably never eat curry again.

She returned to the living room to finish clearing away their drinks, but stopped short in the hallway. She thought she heard a knock at the door. She stood by the entrance hall and listened. She heard the knocking again. Steady, but not very loud. _Christ! Who could it be at this hour?_ She walked over quietly to look through the peephole, irritated at Malcolm's refusal to fix his doorbell. "I want to be able to ignore whomever I want," he'd told her.

She looked through the hole. _What the fuck! Malcolm!_ His ex-wife was standing on his doorstep. _He never mentioned she was coming over tonight!_ Sam looked at the door handle, contemplating whether she should open it or not. No scenario that played through her head was good. _Fuck!_ She briefly closed her eyes to steady her nerves and then opened the door.

Sam watched as Sharon's eyes grew three times larger as they stood face to face.

"Hi," Sam said, to cut the tension. "Malcolm didn't tell me you were coming over tonight."

"It's Sam, Isn't it?"

Sam realized she looked totally different. Her hair was down and she was dressed in a pair of capri's, sandals and a light weight button down floral print shirt. Sharon had only ever seen her in her in her work attire. She could have been anyone at first glance.

"Yes it is. Please," Sam stepped away from the door. "Come on in, Malcolm's asleep." Sam cringed when she heard what she'd said and quickly tried to explain as Sharon stepped inside.

"He fell asleep in his chair and I was just cleaning up dinner."

"I don't want to intrude," Sharon replied.

 _Dammit! That wasn't any better!_ She tried again. "I was just about to head home, so If you want to," Sam thumbed towards the living room. "Go right on in." _Whew! There better!_

Clutching a large book she was carrying to her chest, Sharon walked past her towards the living room. Sam closed the front door and followed behind. She had to squeeze past the woman, who'd stopped just inside the doorway to the living room.

"Excuse me," Sam said as she lightly bumped into her elbow. "I'll go wake him."

Sam shook Malcolm lightly by the shoulder while suppressing the urge to smack him. "Malcolm. Malcolm, wake up. You have company."

He blinked up at her yawned. "Sorry about that. Was I snoring again?"

"You have company, " She repeated moving only her lips and keeping her teeth set in a firm grimace and nodding towards the doorway.

Malcolm turned his head and glanced over his left shoulder. "Sharon!" He called out in surprise and then flipped his recliner upright so fast he almost headbutted Sam. She lurched back to safety at the last second.

"Sorry," he blurted out, grabbing his cane and pushing up out of his chair. Sam stepped back as Malcolm made his way over to his ex-wife. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she replied back.

Sam suddenly felt like the proverbial third wheel in the room so she quickly spoke up. "Malcolm, I'm just waiting on the printer to finish." She pointed to the work table. "And then I'll wrap things up."

"Oh, yes. Sorry, he replied, suddenly remembering to act like a host. "Sam, Sharon. Sharon, Sam. You re-member my sec...sec...Sam?

"It's been a while," was Sharon's cryptic reply. Malcolm didn't seem to notice her tone and kept on talking.

"She's here... helping me with a p-project. It's what I...wanted to talk to you a-b-bout."

Sam noticed Malcolm was nervous. His stuttering always got worse when he was stressed. She looked at the printer que. It was almost finished. "I should be done here and out of your hair in five...ten minutes tops.

"T-take your time," he said offhandedly. "So? How have...you b-been?" He asked her.

Sam was trying not to look, but she could hear the emotion in his ex-wife's voice. "A lot better than you." Sam heard the book she had been holding drop loudly onto the corner of the table. She noticed the book was a large photo album and then she watched surreptitiously as she pulled Malcolm into a hug. Sam thought she heard her crying. "You.. **(*snif** *)...scared the shit out of me!" She _was_ crying.

Sam took another quick glance at them and noticed Malcolm was hugging her back and that his eyes were turning red. She quickly looked away and prayed that the earth might open up and swallow her whole. _Dammit! Why didn't he tell me she was coming over tonight? I don't need to be here for this!_

 _S_ haron's crying quickly lessened and she could hear Malcolm moving about as he rustled her up a tissue from his end table. "Here," she heard him say.

As soon as she stifled her crying, Sharon said, "Let me get a good look at you."

Followed by, "Oh my god, did you get a new tailor, or is it casual Friday?" Sam winced. "You used to despise hoodies...and look at your hair! You always hated it when you hair got anywhere near your ears."

"It hides the...sc-scar," Malcolm replied quietly.

Sam heard the printer stop just as Sharon started crying again. She caught Malcolm's eye and gave him a pained look. His eyes flew wide as he finally got the hint.

"Come on," he said to his ex as he picked up her photo album. "Let's go...s-sit in the...in the ki-chen and look at some p-pictures.. while we ca ca-catch up, yeah?"

"Ok," she replied between sniffles, following him to the kitchen.

As they both disappeared around the corner, Sam collapsed into her chair and let out the tense breath she'd been holding. She rested her forehead on the table with a thump. _Worst night ever!_ She sat there for a few minutes trying to regroup and once she had collected herself she set about turning off the printer. She then gathered up all the trash and placed it in the bin by the fireplace. Sam had insisted on burning over shredding of any and all copies. Once that was done she saved, logged out and shut down her computer. She packed it away in her bag along with her assortment of office supplies. She then took the manila box that contained the four completed chapters of the book upstairs to Malcolm's safe.

While she was turning off the light and locking the door, Sam thought she heard a commotion downstairs. She listened again but all was quiet. It wasn't until she came down the stairs that she saw something was amiss. Sharon was kneeling on the floor near the stairs trying to pick up several of the self sticking photo album pages that must have fallen out of her book and as Sam reached the bottom stair she could hear his ex-wife sobbing. _Oh hell, what happened?_

Sharon stuffed the loose pages back into the binder and then looked up apologetically at Sam. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize...he didn't tell me. I wouldn't have brought them. He should have told me!"

Sam was confused. "About...wwhat?"

Sharon sobbed again. "I can't...", she struggled to her feet while she truggled to contain the pages of the busted photo album from slipping back out. "I can't do this right now." She wiped at the mascara smeared tears on her face and said to Sam without making eye contact, "Tell him I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry."

Sam stood there, rooted in place, watching Sharon as she hurried out of the house. _Where was Malcolm?_ When this thought came to her she finally made a move towards the kitchen. He almost ran her down as he came storming out.

Sam backpedaled, partialy to keep them from colliding and partially because of the look on his face. She couldn't tell if he was angry or if he'd been crying. "Malcolm?" She put a hand on his arm to stop him but he was so blinded by his emotions that he angrily shook her off.

"Nnn-nnnooo!" He turned to climb the stairs but his disability couldn't match his speed and he tripped up on the first step, falling hard onto his right shin before crumpling down atop his cane. He cried out in pain, but it didn't slow him. Wrenching his cane out from beneath him he angrily tossed it behind him and it nearly hit her She could only watch as he pulled, crawled and eventually stumbled his way upstairs. She followed once he disappeared from sight. As she made it to the landing she heard a loud crash from the direction of his bedroom and when she arrived at the door she saw that the drawer of his nightstand was pulled completely out and was lying on the floor next to the bed with it's contents scattered about .

Malcolm was sitting on the edge of his bed next to the nightstand and she saw two bent photo album pages that he must have taken from Sharon's book sitting beside him. He was holding a pair of photo's in his hands. As she drew closer she could see that his jaw was clenched and she could hear him breathing raggedly through his nose. To her it looked like he was experiencing two emotions at once and struggling hard to keep both of them in check.

Sam needed to understand what was going on with him. With both of them for that matter. What had damaged them both so badly? She carefully picked up the bent pages and sat down beside him. The slight shifting of the bed seemed to cause his jaw to finally unclench and a pent up sob escaped his lips.

Malcolm pressed the back of his right hand to his mouth to try and stifle it and Sam got a close up view of the picture in that hand. It was a picture of a baby, small and wrinkled and swaddled tightly in a blue blanket. It was obviously a newborn.

Sam reached for the second picture still clenched in his left hand. He released it when she gave it a slight tug. It was another baby picture. But this one was of a smiling baby girl being held up for the camera, she was dressed in a pink onsie that sported the words **Daddy's Girl!** across the front.

"I th-thought..they were ..p-p-pic-tures..of..of my..,sis-sis-ters kids. They were in my...my.." He pointed to the floor and then shoved the picture in his right hand at her. She could see tears shimmering in his eyes. "How.. I could I have...ff-ff-ff-for-gotten... m-my own kids?"

Sam was as shocked as he was by this revelation. He never said anything about having kids! Neither had Sharon or anyone at work. Ever! Were they from a previous marriage? What else had he forgotten about his past? She wanted to ask him but he was now weeping softly into his hands. Sam didn't know what to do for him. She wanted to hug him, but he was only ever her boss and he was never much of a touchey feeley type of man. But she needed to do something!

It was then that she remembered the two bent photo album pages lying in her lap. She picked up the one on top and looked at the four pictures trapped beneath the laminate. The one top left was a picture of a much younger looking Sharon sitting in a rocker bottle feeding the same baby girl as in the picture Malcolm had been holding. _What?_ Two more of the pictures were of Sharon and the little girl again, but the last one at the bottom right of the page was a picture of a Malcolm. He was holding up the baby girl wearing the same onesie as in the loose picture. Sam compared the two. Same baby, same onesie, and the same hands holding her up under her arms to face the camera. _This makes no sense?_ Sam flipped the album page over to the other side. _Oh, fuck._ Now it made sense.

The newspaper cut-out had yellowed with age, but the black ink was still clearly legible:

 **VICTORIA LYNN TUCKER**

 **April 23, 1988- June 14, 1989**

It was an obituary notice for his daughter.

Sam quickly grabbed the other page in her lap and looked at it. More pictures of Malcolm and Sharon, this time holding a tiny baby boy. God, they looked like kids themselves. Both had to have been in their twenties and as she flipped the page around she discovered she was right.

There was another obituary.

 **STEVEN JAMES TUCKER**

 **Born January 12, 1983-March 7, 1983**

Sam quickly set aside the photos and slid her right arm across Malcolm's shoulders. She felt him flinch at her initial touch but once he relaxed she wrapped her other arm around him and held him tight.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Sam woke up feeling disoriented. Why was her bed facing the wrong direction. And why was the sun peeping through curtains? Where were her mini blinds? When she was fully awake and she took a good look around, she realized where she was. _Oh._

Sam sat up and tossed aside the light throw that was covering her. She noticed it was the same one she'd pulled over him last night. She didn't see Malcolm, but she did smell the aroma of fresh brewed coffee drifting into the room. That was a positive sign. As she ran her fingers through her sleep mussed hair and straightened her rumpled blouse, she thought about last night and how she'd wound up sleeping over.

He'd asked her to stay.

...

Last night Malcolm had easily relented to the pressure of her hands as she'd pushed him over onto his back and swung his legs up onto he bed, and he'd closed his eyes as she pulled the knitted throw from the end of his bed up to his shoulders. "Be right back," she'd said, and hurried downstairs to fill a glass of water. She returned quickly and set the glass down on his nightstand. She'd picked through the prescriptions that were scattered on the bedroom floor, finding the one she wanted, shook out a pill and handed it to him along with the water.

"Here, take this."

It was one of his anti-anxiety pills. She had hoped it would help calm him and maybe let him sleep. He took it without arguing.

"I'll let you get some rest,"

She recapped the pill bottle and as she went to set it down on the nightstand Malcolm had reached out and put his hand on her arm. "Stay?" He'd asked.

She laid her hand atop his in reassurance. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right

downstairs if you need me."

...

Sam got up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen. As she reached the entrance, she could hear Malcolm talking. From the pauses, she deduced he was on his cell phone. She wondered who he might be speaking to at this early of an hour as she tentatively crossed the threshold.

"...I'm glad you under...stand," she heard him say.

Malcolm noticed her arrival at the doorway and waved her into the room as he spoke. "Tonight is good."

Sam made a bee-line for the coffee pot, listening as she opened a cabinet and pulled out a mug.

"Ok, see you at seven."

She filled her mug and took a sip.

"Bye."

She heard his phone snap shut as she turned to take a seat next to him at the island. "How are you doing?" She asked.

"Better now," he replied, giving his phone a little shake before setting it on the counter.

"Who was that?" She asked.

"Sharon. I called to she if she was, ok. And to ah..polgize."

"How is she?"

"She's all-right. I just f-freaked her out. That's all."

"I didn't mean to overhear, but is she coming back over tonight?"

"Yes. We have a lot to talk about."

"Yes you do, " Sam agreed.

"I'm sorry about last night." Malcolm rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "And I'm sorry you had to s-sleep on my...couch."

She set down her mug and smiled at him to ease his worry. "It wasn't a bother."

He snickered. "Says the woman I found...sh-shivering in her...sleep."

"Was I?" Sam blushed. "Thanks for the cover."

"Not a problem."

She ran her hands through her hair again. "I'm sure I look a fright."

Malcolm grinned. "Well, you might scare...small children..."

"Hey!"

"B-But its nothing I haven't seen before."

Sam couldn't help but smile at the memories of all the times she'd fallen asleep on his office couch. Then her face took on a more somber tone as a word he'd just spoken took her back to the reason she was on his couch this morning. "Malcolm? She said warily.

"Yes?"

"Speaking of children." She looked at him in earnest, wanting to know if it was ok to broach the subject.

He held her gaze. "Ah, that." He scrunched his lips together. Unsure how to start, he grabbed his coffee cup and went for a refill. "You want some more?" He asked, waving the pot at her.

"I'm good.".

"There were six," he said, when he sat back down beside her.

"Six?"

Malcolm spun his cup nervously on the counter. "F-four mis...mis...carriages and two babies."

Sam was surprised by the further revelations. "I'm so sorry"

"The first mis-carriage was b-before Steven was b-born and the other three were b-before...Victoria. After she died we st...stopped trying."

"What happened?"

"We were two...time-bombs...waiting to go off."

Sam gave him a confused look.

"We both had the same ..ummm...," he waved his hand in frustration. "Bad...parts...," He slapped his hand and pinched his skin. "Pieces...tiny parts...ummm."

"Cells? DNA? Genetics?" Sam offered.

"Genetics! Yesss, that." He took a sip of coffee before continuing. "We f-finally got an answer from the doctors after...Victoria died. So no more trying." He gave a hollow laugh and ran a hand through his own mussed hair. "E-ven..tually no more anything. If you what I mean?"

Sam patted his arm sympathetically. "Yeah, I think I do."

He ran his hands down his face and sighed. "F-fuck, I'm a right bastard."

"What do you mean?"

"I never ah-pologized," he mumbled more to himself than to her.

"For what?"

"Huh?" He finally realized she was speaking to him.

"What do you need to apologize for?"

"Oh, sorry...I, um...said some hurt-ful things to Sharon before we d-divorced." He remembered they hadn't been intimate for years _. Frigid bitch. Why the fuck did I have to go and call her that?_

"Dealing with that kind of loss is enough to split anyone apart."

He gave a halfhearted shrug."I suppose."

Sam decided she'd pressed him enough on the subject. "So," she said in an upbeat tone. "What's a girl gotta' do to get something to eat around here?"

Malcolm arched an eyebrow. "Well, if you must know...I'm shit with a knife, so If you'll d-do the d-dicing, I can...whip you up an omlet."

"I think I can do that. Where's your cutting board."

* * *

Three hours later Malcolm found himself down the kitchen appliance aisle of a big box store. He was eager to buy a mini food processor. Sam had recommended he get one while she was dicing up the peppers and onions for him. _Now why didn't I think of this sooner?_ He wondered, as he debated which one of the four models he was currently looking at would be the best one to buy. He picked up the cheapest one first to read the features listed on the box.

"I wouldn't waste your money on that one," and all too familiar voice said from over his shoulder.

It made him jump, "F-fuckin' hell! He set the processor back on the shelf, grabbed his cane and turned around. "Would you not d- d-do that?"

"Nice to see you too Malcolm." Nicola chided.

He just glowered at her. He'd managed to go more than a year without running into anyone from his time at Number 10,so now he felt caught off-guard. W _hy does it have to be her?_

She crossed her arms at his glare. "For Christ's sake Malcolm, I'm not here to bust your balls...though, I do have every right to do so."

"So why...are you here?"

"I'm shopping." She waved her hands around to help state the obvious. "Like you."

"Is there some-thing I can d-do for you?"

"No, but there's something I can do for you. Like stopping you from buying that piece of crap." She pointed to the food processor he'd set on the shelf. "Here." She pulled one off the shelf and handed it to him. "It's a few quid more, but it will last forever."

He hugged it to his chest. "So, w-what are you now? Britain's...answer to M-martha St-st-stewart?

"Very funny. So, how are you Malcolm? Last thing I'd heard was that you were on your deathbed. Of course, you do have to have a soul to actually die."

"Ha ha. Very f-funny. I'm f-fine..as you can see."

"Yeaah...but you're not really your old self, are you?"

"Wh-what d-do you mean?"

"I can't help but notice your speech impediment...god, why couldn't you have had that three years ago..." Malcolm frowned. "... and I'm wondering how many three legged races you've won with that thing." She pointed to his cane.

"I may not have...w-won any races," he said moving to drop the box he was holding into his cart to stand closer to Nicola. "B-but I have...b-beaten a few...people...to death with it."

"Nicola put up a hand between them in defense. "Settle down Malcolm. I'm not here to fight with you. Those days are over. Or haven't you noticed."

She was right. He sighed and backed up a step. "So, how have you b-been?" He asked as a form of truce.

"I've been good. Got my health." She jibed, but quickly recanted before Malcolm's glare got any worse.. "Sorry, sorry. You seem to bring that out in me. But seriously, all kidding aside things couldn't be better for me. I went back to working at my husbands construction company. We used to argue like mad when I worked there before, but after having to deal with your shit, turns out he's just a big ole teddy bear. We even renewed our vows last month. Twenty years, can you believe it. Oh, and the kids are really happy to be back in private school. So life is good."

Malcolm slowly rolled his eyes as he wondered how long she was going to babble on at him. She noticed. "Don't worry Malcolm, I won't keep you any longer. Just wanted to say that it was good to see that you weren't dead."

"Hmmm...thanks?"

She grabbed hold of her shopping cart and gave it a push. "You may even get there one day yourself."

 _What the hell is she talking about? Get there myself?_ "Get where?" He barked at her before she pushed her cart around the corner.

"Your happy place!" She called out, and then she was gone.

 _My happy place?_ He stood there frowning. _What the hell does she mean by that?_ Malcolm shook his head at her nonsense and pushed his cart on to toiletries.

* * *

Malcolm enjoyed his new food processor...for the most part. He was now back to cooking most of his favorite dishes and eating a lot healthier. Along with his daily walks, he was almost back to his pre-stroke weight. The only problem he had with using his new processor was that every time he used it he could hear Nicola Murray calling out, "Your happy place!"

He would have liked to have left it out on his counter but it was a constant reminder, so he would stow it away in the cupboard after using it.

Even with the machine stored away, the phrase began to pop into his head off and on throughout the day. _My happy place! Bah!_ And so he would push the thought away. But after a couple of weeks, it was all he could think about.

 _Am I happy? I don't know? What is happy? I'm somewhat content. Not happy about my stroke, but I'm better. I do miss my old life. It's very quiet around here. Too quiet. I should get out more. Don't have many friends. Well, only one friend. I'm sure Jamie is getting tired of me by now. Maybe I should get a hobby, take some classes? But what? Maybe I'm not happy? Will I ever be?_

When his ruminations got too bad he plopped himself down in front of his TV and turned up the volume, much to Sam's irritation. She began to wonder if he was losing his hearing.

"No, I'm not going d-deaf. I just have...a lot on my mind late-ly and I'm trying to tune it all out."

Sam stood beside his chair with her hands on her hips. "Well, that's not gonna' help. As soon as you turn it off it'll be right back."

She was right. "Alright then," he said, popping up out of his chair as fast as a man with a cane could 'pop'. "Time for some-thing d-different." He gave Sam a perfunctory smile. "I'll be back." He headed upstairs.

Sam returned to their work table and wondered what he was up to. Twenty minutes later she heard him clomping back downstairs. She looked over and... _Oh wow!_ She hadn't seen that in a while. Malcolm was wearing one of his grey suits, and if it wasn't for the cane she'd of thought it was the old Malcolm again. She couldn't help but smile.

He became self conscious. "What?"

"You look good."

Malcolm looked down and began to fumble with the tie hanging loose around his neck to keep from blushing. "Can't seem to tie this thing anymore."

Sam pushed up out of her seat and went over to help him with his tie. "So what's the occasion?" She asked as she slid one end of the tie down lower than the other.

"No o-ca-casion. I just need to get out of here, so I thought I'd take Sharon to d-dinner. I'm sure she's tired of this p-place as well."

"So why the suit?" She asked, passing the long end of the tie back through a loop.

"Seemed like a good time to try it out again."

"Well, you look nice." She said, snugging the Windsor up around his neck. Once the tie was in place, more of the memories of the old Malcolm came flooding back and she busied herself with brushing off his shoulders and smoothing out his lapels to keep the tears from spilling out. She quickly turned away before she embarrassed herself. "So where are you taking her?"

He'd been too busy watching her hands to notice the glimmer of tears. "I thought I'd take her to... Marcella's. It used to b-be our fa-vorite place."

"That's nice" Sam remarked as she absentmindedly shuffled papers around on he table.

"We should only be gone a couple of hours. Will you be ok here by your-self?"

"Sure." She said, still shuffling papers, not wanting to look at him again. "I have plenty to do here."

There was a knock at the door.

"Ah, there she is!" He glanced at his watch. "Right on time." It felt good to have his watch on again. _Forgot how much I missed it._

Sam watched him leave and once the front door closed behind them she wiped the tears from her eyes.

* * *

For the next three weeks it became a regular thing. He and Sharon went to dinner or on outings to catch up on the old days. Malcolm enjoyed reminiscing with her. They'd spent nearly half their lives together and he hadn't realized that there had been just as many good times as there were bad. It's just that towards the end, the bad one were the ones he remembered the most.

I was going on eight o'clock one Sunday evening when Sam heard them returning. They were laughing about something and Sam thought it was good it was to see him happy. They made a stop at the work table.

"How was your day?" She asked them.

Malcolm spoke first. "We walked around the Uni-versity for a bit, made me feel old, all the students look like kids. And then we went to see where our f-first ahh-part-ment used to be and we d-discovered it's been torn down...and replaced with council f-flats."

"I'm so glad we went though," said Sharon. "It brought back a lot of old memories." She handed Sam a small notebook. "More work for you I'm afraid."

"That's what I'm here for."

Sam had ask Sharon if she would take notes on their outings, seeing a Malcolm's handwriting was crap. She'd readily agreed. Sam would transcribed Sharon's notes and then reviewed them with Malcolm later for possible inclusion in the book. She took the notebook and placed it next to her computer

"Would you like some tea or coffee?" Malcolm asked Sharon, lightly touching her on the arm.

"Too late for coffee." She replied setting her purse and some packages down on the table. "But I will have some tea though."

Malcolm looked down at Sam. "Can I get you any"

She shook her head. "Nah, I think I'm good. I want to get these notes typed up real quick in case I have any questions and then I need to go. I have an early day tomorrow."

"Shit. Sorry Sam. I forgot you have...work tomorrow. We should have come back sooner."

"It's ok. I feel like we're making real progress these days. I'd hate to lose momentum just so I could catch an extra hour of sleep. You two keep this up and we'll have this next chapter finished and I think we may be ready to shop it to a publisher."

"Really?" Malcolm was surprised. The book had been in the works for months.

But procuring a publisher, that made it a reality. And it made him a little nervous. "Are you sure?"

"Well, we've already got the next eleven chapters mapped out and it was just these two chapters on your past that were bogging us down. So, now that the hard part is almost over the rest should be easier. We can let Sharon and Jamie do a read through of what we've written so far to gauge their opinions, but yeah...I think its time to shop it around.. and a nice fat advance would really come in handy towards finishing the rest of the book."

"Malcolm! That's wonderful!" Sharon gave Malcom an enthusiastic hug. She'd been nothing but supportive when she'd learned he was attempting to write a book.

He patted her back nervously. _Was it wonderful?_ His stomach suddenly felt like a nest of bees lived inside.

"Come on!" Sharon put her arm through his. "Lets celebrate." She snagged one of the packages off the table. "We'll open this box of truffles I bought." And she tugged him towards the kitchen.

Sam saved the document she'd been working on , opened the file labeled **Sharon's Notes** and began transcribing the multiple pages of notes. They had spent most of the day together so the plethora of notes was no surprise. But what was a surprise was the loud clack of Sharon's heels as she headed towards the table minutes later. Sam looked up from her work and...o _h hell._

She looked upset. She wasn't crying, but her face was pinched into a frown and her brow was furrowed. Something had obviously happened. _What could have happened in the span of what...five minutes?_ She was thinking of asking what was wrong when Sharon spoke first.

"I'm gonna' be going." She said as she opened her purse. "Can you tell Malcolm.." Her hand found her keys and she pulled them out. She stared at them silently for a moment. Sam could tell Sharon was thinking less about the weight of the keys in her hand and more about the weight of what she was about to say.

"Can you tell Malcolm that I'll be back in a couple of weeks. And that I...and that I think we should just take a little break." She picked up her purse and her bags and made brief eye contact with Sam.

She thought Sharon looked like she wanted to say more, and Sam wanted to ask her what happened, but Sharon quickly said goodnight and left her staring dumbfound at an empty hallway.

Sam sat there a moment, trying to wrap her head around Sharon going from 'Lets celebrate' to 'I think we should take a little break'? Baffled, she pushed away from the table to go get Malcolm's side of the story.

She found him sitting on one of the bar stools with his elbows propped up on the island's counter top and his head in his hands. She approached to his right and stopped a few feet away. "Malcolm?"

He flinched when she spoke his name and he took his hands from his face and rested them on the counter. He wouldn't look at her. He just sat there and began tracing a finger along the grout lines separating the tiles on the countertop.

Since he wouldn't look at her, she moved to the other side of the island to stand across from him. He looked finally up. "Malcolm, what happened? Everything was...", Sam stopped. She was going to say, '...everything was fine a few minutes ago.', but something caught her attention. It was the smudge of red just above his top lip. She couldn't help but stare.

When Malcolm realized she was staring at his lips he quickly ran his left hand across his mouth and down his chin as if it was nothing. "I d-d-don't...want to talk about it." He said firmly. Swiveling his chair away from her, he grabbed his cane and hurried from the room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Let's celebrate!"

Malcolm had put the kettle on and Sharon set about peeling the cellophane wrapper off the box of chocolate covered truffles. He then joined her where she was standing at the end of the island. His shoulder brushed up against hers and he felt her lean into him.

"This really is fantastic news Malcolm." She lifted off the box top. "I know you've been worried about this book."

He started to protest but she shut him down. "Don't try to deny it. I can read your face like this best seller you're writing." She pulled the waffled protective covering off the chocolates and brought the box up to her nose for a long leisurely sniff.

"You still love smelling your chocolates." He chided.

"Ahhh! It's like heaven."

He laughed and she set down down the box. "And I'm not kidding about your book being a best seller..."

"Oh, d-don't go and ...j-jinx it!"

"I'm not going to jinx it. I know you." She put her arm around his shoulder and gave him a hug. "I know what kind of man you really are and its about time the rest of Britain knew as well. It'll shut up those smug faced bastards who wanted to pillar you in court." She reached into the box for a truffle. "Here, you get the first one." She held it up and popped it into his mouth.

"They're... very good," he smacked out while chewing.

She snagged one for herself and took a bite. "Mmmmm...so decadent! She moaned.

He was always amazed at how she could make eating chocolates sound so damn sexy. He smiled at the memories of all the boxes he's bought her just so he could hear her moan. Sharon still had her right arm around his shoulder and when she returned his smile... that's when it happened.

He'd leaned in and kissed her.

And then...nothing. There was no response on her part. Not initially. But a mere second and a half later he felt her arm leave his shoulder as she took a step back.

The surprise in her voice was evident. "What are you doing?"

He thought it was pretty obvious and didn't know what to say, so he just stood there, confused over her reaction.

Looking flustered, she moved to stand around the corner of the isle to face him. "Malcolm, you...you can't do that ."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm with someone! We've been together for nearly two years now."

He was shocked. "I d-didn't know."

"No, because you've never asked!"

 _I haven't, have I?_ He pulled in his bottom lip and chewed on it nervously. _Why haven't I?_

Sharon had noticed after the first week she'd spent with him. She noticed he never asked questions anymore. The Malcolm Tucker she once knew used to be what she'd describe as a human data mining machine. Always asking questions, personal or otherwise. Always mining the minutia out of every encounter to be saved ,extrapolated and filed away for future reference, gain or advantage. But now there was nothing and he didn't even realize, so she thought it best to never to bring it up.

But his kiss had breached the dam and she couldn't hold back..

"You've never asked me about my life since our divorce, if I was married or even dating. You haven't asked me where I live. You've never once asked about my new career, or even if I'm happy. You've never commented on my new car or my new hair color. You haven't even asked me about my sister who now has two twin boys, and I haven't gotten to tell you that I'm now an Aunt who gets to spoil them rotten. And most of all you've never once asked me about my mother ...who by the way, died last year! It's like part of you is missing!" She'd felt herself starting to shake as she spoke, and she shocked herself when she spit out her private observation of him. She threw her hand over her mouth to stop anything more from coming out. _Oh god!_ The hurt and confusion in his eyes were clearly visible and she took a step towards him. She reached for his hand to apologize for her outburst and to explain, but he backed away until he bumped against the stove. He turned to his right and grasped the edge of the kitchen sink for support.

"I'm sorry Malcolm. I didn't mean it like that."

He didn't reply, but she could tell he was upset by the rise and fall of his shoulders and this rapid breathing.

""Please Malcolm, I want to apologize, or at least explain."

A response finally came, but it wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"J-just...go."

That had been three days ago.

Afterwards. Sam had lingered behind in the kitchen long enough to turn off the kettle that had started to squeal and she caught up to Malcolm in the living room just as he was about to deploy his favorite avoidance tactic. The television. So, she positioned herself between him and it.

"Malcolm, before she left, Sharon told me to tell you that she needed a break and that she'd be back in a couple of weeks."

Th remote he'd been picking up dropped back down with a clatter atop his end table. "A break?" He stared up at Sam while his mind processed her message. _A break?Two weeks!_

"Yeah...well I think I need a f-fuckin' break too. In fact, I think we all need a break. I'm sure you must have a p- puppy to feed or a man that needs d-dating."

That last comment elicited a confused look from Sam.

He got up out of his recliner. "Come on," he ordered her as he headed over to the work table. "Let's get you all p-packed up and...and headed home so you can d-do what-ever it is you do when you're not stuck... hanging ah-round with me."

"Malcolm, I don't need..."

"Sure you d-do." He interrupted, his voice sounding a bit more agitated. "I need one, we all need one." He gathered up some of Sam's papers and held them out to her. "So let's all take a break...and meet back in in a cu-cu-couple of weeks." He then gave Sam the phoniest smile she'd ever seen. She thought it best not to argue and started packing up her things.

Malcolm escorted her to the door. As she started down the frirst step Malcolm suddenly blurted out, "Are you happy?"

She turned back at his question and gave him a searching look before replying. "I'm happy enough." She smiled, stepped towards him and pulled him into a hug with her free arm. He was startled. "Call me if you need me," she whispered his ear. She kissed him on the cheek and then briefly rubbed her thumb across pink smudge she'd left behind. As Malcolm stood there watching her walk away, he was more confused than ever.

Three days ago was the last time he'd spoken to anyone.

He was now in full brood mode. And when he wasn't brooding, the TV was blaring. Because with no one else around, it was just _'too fuckin' quiet'._ His three days of solitude were starting to feel like three weeks. It was dinner time and he was seriously considering getting dressed and going out to eat when there was a knock at his front door.

A part of him wanted to run to the door yelling _"Come in! Come in!"._ But he was still in a mood and he really didn't want to speak to anyone. The knocking got louder. _If that's someone trying to sell those shitty magazine subscriptions I'm going to give them a good bollicking. Haven't done that in a while. Might make me feel better!_ He grabbed his cane and hurried to the door. Wrenching it open he started swearing before he even looked to see who it was.

"W-what the f-fuck do ya want!" He looked up. "What are you d-doin' here? D-didn't you get my...my message?"

"You mean the one you left on my voice mail?" Jamie asked.

"Yeah."

"I never got it," he said sarcastically, pushing his way into Malcolm's house.

"I d-dont recall inviting you in!" He yelled at Jamie's back as he headed to the living room .

Jamie turned around. "I not the one who's the funkin' pasty faced vampire here," he pointed at Malcolm. "That's you. I don't need to be invited in."

Malcolm slammed the door shut and followed him in. "Am I not ah-llowed to go f-five minutes in my own...home without someone ch-checking up on me or...or trying to stitck a ther-mometer up my butt!"

Jamie's eyes went wide. "Woah, Malc...I don't need to know about your kinky fetishes, I'm just here to ask you one a question and then I'll be on me way."

Malcolm leaned his cane against the work table and crossed his arms defensibly. "What."

"What the fuck were ye thinkin?" He yelled at Malcolm.

 _I don't have to listen to this!_ Embarrassed that Jamie knew what had happened, he grabbed his cane and shoved the rubber tip into Jamie's chest, shoving him back until he made himself room to pass to his chair.

Jamie kept on rebuking him. "You don't make out with the ex! Every man knows that. We learn that before we're out of fuckin' primary school. Don't make out with the ex!"

He flopped down into his chair with a grunt. "Did Sam p-put you up to this?"

"Sam? What's Sam got to do with this? You make out with her too?"

"Shut up!"

"Sharon called me the night it happened."

"So why d-did you wait till now to come over ?"

"Because if I'd come sooner you'd have probably beat me with that cane of yours instead of poking me in the chest with it."

Malcolm laid the cane across the arms of his recliner, He held on to it, just in case he did need to beat Jamie with it. "She tell you what she said?"

"Yeah."

"All if it?"

Jamie moved in closer to Malcolm's chair. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"You tell her that?"

"Malcolm, part of you isn't missing. It's just been misplaced."

Malcolm snapped his head to the left and he looked accusingly up at Jamie. "You knew ah-b-bout this? You knew and you di-di-didn't tell me!"

Jamie sighed and crossed in front of Malcolm to take a seat on the couch. "Malcolm...it's just like learning to walk again or going through speech therapy. It's just a skill you need to relearn. A social skill."

"What if it d-dosen't come back?"

"You said the same thing about your hand and your leg."

"Neither of those are back to normal!"

Jamie was getting frustrated as well. "It's barley been a year! A year since they cut your head open and played around in your brain! Everything will take time, you know that! Christ!" He shook his head in annoyance and leaned back into the couch. "You certainly haven't lost the ability to be an irritating cunt."

"Is that supposed to make me f-feel better?"

"You want to be coddled? Is that what you want? We can still move you in to the care home with your mum."

"F-fuck you."

"Malcolm, up until recently your social circle has consisted of only three people. Your sister, myself and Sam. Your lack of social skill wasn't high on the list of priorities. Your physical rehab and your book have been the main focus, so I apologize if we've been lax on the details."

"D-details! What else haven't you told me?"

"Aren't you gonna offer me a something to drink. That is part of the social skill thing that you're lacking. You should work on that now."

"Jamie," Malcolm glowered at him. "What else?"

He pointed at Malcolm's face. "See that, your eyebrows haven't lost the ability to make people want to shit themselves."

"What else, you f-fuck twat?"

"Ahhh, ok. There was something Sam mentioned to me a few weeks ago."

His expression quickly went from anger to worry. _Shit. Do I really want to know?_ Of course he did. "What?"

"She thinks the stoke has made you colorblind."

 _Colorblind?_ "How can she tell that?"

"Well, she said that since you've been doing your own wash none of your socks match anymore."

"My socks?" Malcolm kicked both his feet out and looked down at his ankles. "What's wrong with my socks?"

Jamie looked too. "The left one is grey and the right one is brown," he said.

"Really? Malcolm kept looking.

"Yep."

"Well I think that would be good to know! I could be dressing myself like a clown! Thanks, thanks a lot."

"Malcolm, it was just a recent observation. We weren't sure." He looked down at Malcolm's ankles again. "Pretty sure now though."

Malcolm placed his hands over his eyes and rubbed them in frustration. "Arrrggh!"

"You should probably go an have your eyes checked."

He glared over at Jamie through his fingers and mumbled through his hands. "I should beat you with my cane."

Jamie laughed. And so did Malcolm after a moment.

After their laughing subsided. Jamie brought their conversation back around to why he was there in the first place. "So...kissing the ex. What were you thinking?"

He let out a sigh. "I wasn't thinking, that's what happened."

"Well, some part of you was obviously thinking." Jamie playfully ribbed..him "Good to know that's not broke, am I right?"

Embarassed, Malcolm squirmed in his chair. Truth be told he hadn't really thought about 'that'. _Maybe it doesn't work?_ Jamie couldn't help but interpret Malcolm's silence. _Shit!_ "Oh, sorry, mate."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment, but Jamie couldn't keep quiet.

"So, you haven't...taken it for a test drive since your stroke?"

Malcolm rested his right elbow on the arm of his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't want to discuss his dick with anyone.

"I can bring you some of my magazines, if you think it might help."

Malcolm silently shook his head. He didn't want any of Jamie's wank mags. "Can we not d-discuss this?"

"Fine. But maybe you should start getting out more. Maybe start dating?"

Malcolm gave him a look. "D-dating! I'm not exactly a teen...teen-ager anymore."

"It's just a thought."

"Yeah. Well my past proceeds me."

"Ah!" Jamie exclained. "That's it!"

"What 's it?"

"That's why you kissed her! She already knew you. She was safe."

"I su-pose. She is the one person who knows me best."

Jamie got a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, I wouldn't say the one person."

Malcolm though a moment. But he was at a loss. "Who else you talking ah-bout?"

Jamie gave him a bumb founded look. "Seriously?"

"I don't fancy you! You bent bastard!"

"No, not me!" He shook his head at Malcolm's cluelessness. "You really are thick aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

I'm talkin' about Sam!"

"Sam?"

"Yes, Sam."

"But she's my secretary."

"Was your secretary. "

"Yeah, but..."

"You relly don't have a fuckin clue, do you?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Before the move to opposition. The PM offered Sam a job."

"What?" This came as a surprise. "What job?"

"Clerk of the Privy Council."

"What!"

"She turned him down flat."

"Why would she do that?"

"Because of her loyalty to you, you moron."

 _Fuck! I am a moron!_ Sure he was extremely fond of Sam. But he was also a gentleman and he never thought of her in 'those' terms. Course, he was too busy trying to forestall the latest cock-up from toppling the government to properly notice much of anything in those days. They did spend a lot of time together though, and she was the only person he knew that took no notice of his bullshit. How many times had he thrown a blanket over her after finding her asleep on his couch after patiently waiting for him to come back from an emergency meeting in the wee hours of the night. She knew what he liked to eat, and how he like his coffee. She laughed at his obscene jokes and cleaned up the daily mess of mandarin skins off his office desk. _Oh shit...she was my work wife!_

Jamie saw the penny drop for Malcolm, his eyes growing wide as he touched his left cheek. With his job done, Jamie got up to leave. Stopping briefly next to Malcolm before he left, he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed. "Stick that in your bonnet and think about it."


End file.
